One Step Ahead

A young girl sped recklessly over a sea of emerald and tawny ground. Her steps were light and practiced as she made her way by memory through deceptive landscape, having long ago learned better than to be fooled by its flat appearance. Her muscles strained and her breathe came in gasps that sent shivers of smoke through the bitter air, but she pressed on. The sky above her, heaven’s palette, danced with blues and purples and stormy grays, but her cobalt eyes were trained fixedly on her destination. The worn slate pillars loomed in the distance. Their ancient majesty against the backdrop of primal sky was almost enough to slow her gate. But her eyes caught the faint wisps of smoke rising from within and a new wave of panic swept through her mind, sending shots of electricity through her tired muscles. All feelings of weariness were swept aside as she leapt over a fallen piece of stone, landing in full run. Scrambling to a mark in the center only her trained eyes could detect, she fell upon the ground with full force. As she rolled to her feet, the dirt drained away into a small crack, to be replaced with thick smoke. Struggling to catch her breath, her fingers found the edge of the wooden door and pushed. A few precious moments went by as the creaking structure protested her disturbance before she had opened the crack wide enough to enter. Smoke billowed from the chamber beyond, but the spiral design of the stairs kept a wide enough passage of clean air for her to slide down. With a hand on the thick oaken siding, she slide into the dark room below at a reckless speed, her heart beat quickening from more then just the lack of oxygen. Rolling to a crouch in the smoke darkened room, she pulled a cloth over her face called out.

“Master?”

In the deafening silence that answered, she could make out the faint roar of a fire. Desperation seizing her as she felt her time running out, she pushed to her feet and forced her way through the rolling darkness. She continued to call out, her tone strained with coughs but loud enough to echo through the underground structure. When her fingers grazed the metal handle of the library, she knew that was where she would find him. Pulling the searing metal back with instinct-fed force, she called in one last attempt to rouse her mentor. Her call was cut off as the fire leapt from the charred room inside, blooming with fresh intensity as the starved flames found new fuel.

With arms up to shield her face, she stumbled backwards. She was dizzy with lack of air and physical exertion and she lost her footing, flailing out for anything to catch her balance. Her burned hand found the base of the steps and she began to climb, her mind on auto-pilot as her body took over for its needs. Bursting from the ground she pulled her self into fresh air. Her invigorated legs last only a few steps more before she collapsed against the cool, wet surface of the ancient stone. On instinct she checked herself for injury. The hand she had opened the door with had some burn damage, and the back of hers arms were slightly singed. She absently thanked the rain that had soaked her on the journey there for the lack of serious burns. Raising her deep blue eyes from her own skin to the black smoke pouring from the crack in the ground, her mind gave in to the sickeningly plain knowledge that she had come too late. Her body quickly followed her numb mind and, as she settle back to watch what had once been her home become a tomb, she slipped off into memories.
She couldn’t remember the first time she woke up in that small, darkened room under the stairway. Master always told her that she had another home once, before he took her in, but she was too young to remember. All she knew was that the wooden place beneath the stones had always been her home. The sturdy dark oak had been there forever, the sweetly dank smell of dark places and earth mixed with the softer scents of worn parchment and leather books had existed in that place since before time. The steely gray stones that guarded the haven from above had been a slightly newer addition, Master had taught her the date, but to her, they were as ever-fixed and ancient as the home itself. And the old man who tended it.

She knew many ways to describe him, more words and concepts added constantly as she grew under his training, but none seemed to match with the concept of him in her heart. He was not her father, or grandfather, for he was not of her blood. She had the feeling he might have taken on those roles, but she had never met a family to compare it to. He was not just her teacher, for what they had was beyond Master-Apprentice. He was simply always there, guiding her with a soft smile of approval or a questioning raise of his silver brow.

It used to frustrate her so how he would never tell her she was wrong, or answer her questions with simple answers. But as she grew older she began to realize that it was another branch of his teachings. His answers were always questions, leading them into spiraling discussions in which she managed to answer her own question. She was fascinated by this process, feeling wonderful when the light clicked on in her mind and she made the connection he had wanted her to make. As she matured, she began to see his motivations in leading her to the answer, even when the route was very long. He wanted her to discover the answers on her own, not to be spoon-fed information. From that point on, she was thankful when he started those conversations, striving to impress him with shorter and shorter routes to the answer, knowing he was always one step ahead.

She grew up watching him tend to yellowing books and scrolls, learning from his gentle care of this forgotten knowledge. But she learned other things as well, at his urgings. She taught herself physical arts from the leather books of his library. She enjoyed the physical aspects, always loving to challenge herself, but did not understand their necessity. When she asked, he simply gave her the kind but cryptic look he always gave her when there was information he wouldn’t tell her yet, and replied “I want you to know how to protect yourself.” Whenever she asked questions about why they were there or what had been before this existence, he would answer in the same cryptic way, giving her just enough of a hint at more information to keep her questioning each time.

He was always like that. There were times when she had began to think she had him completely figured out. After all, she could read him like a book. The small none-smiles that flashed across his face, the imperceptible furrowing of his brows, she knew the silent language of his gestures. But every time he would continue to surprise her. He always kept her challenge, one step ahead but never far away.

With her back to the rough stone, the young woman began to shake, trying to blink back the tears that formed in her eyes. With a shuddering sob, she closed her eyes, running from the knowledge that she had come too late, that she had failed him when he needed her most, by holding onto the image of him in her mind. His soft, silver hair was pulled back in a loose tie, his feathery beard combed straight. The plush purples and blues of his robes fell softly around him as he sat in his favorite place by his desk. His eyes were closed in early morning contentment, the parchments on the table momentarily forgotten as he enjoyed the warmth of the golden sunrise spilling through the high window.

So focused was she on this image of the past that she missed the soft steps of an old retreating form, a small smile playing across his face as he stayed one step ahead.