Skye Maelstrom Faust
"Welcome back, sir. I trust your journey was acceptable." The man in
black smiled, his white teeth gleaming by the light of the morning
star. He took my bags through the long hall, where silver armours
spoke of ages past.
He guided me to my room, still grinning stupidly. I hung my coat and hat on the back of the big oak door as he left.
"I will prepare dinner," he had said.
"And I will love it," I replied, "most faithful servant."
He blushed sheepishly at the compliment and proceeded to continue up the long stone hallway towards the kitchen.
He had been faithful all these years, unlike the others.
They had abandoned me for their own. They could love as I could not.
As dinner was served in the candlelit dining room, my faithful servant stood by, as if to guard my soul. He stayed as he always had, not wanting what I could offer in riches alone.
As is my custom, I offered him a seat, to dine with me as a peer.
As is his custom, he quietly declined, preferring to stand and watch.
Usually I would not argue. Many times I have tried, but always he would insist on finishing only what was unwanted by myself.
"Oh good and faithful servant," I said, "please sit. I fear that as you stand over me, your legs should give way and you will fall.
"Please sit, friend."
So, for the first time since I was a child, I watched him sit down.
I began to think of our long history. "Remember, friend, when we used to sit like this and you would coax me, so I would eat my vegetables."
He smiled. "Yes, Master, I do."
"You've always loved me. We grew almost as brothers." I paused. "But I fear that I have done you wrong, friend, and that you have lost that love."
He made as if to deny the truth in what I was saying.
"You made a promise to me a long time ago."
His casted face looked at me with its unchanging expression.
"You promised to hold me and to guide as a father. This you have done. And done well, I might add."
He stared at me through his strange eyes. "I have not forgotten anything, sir. You are as strong as your father was."
This time it was my turn to keep silent.
He continued. "You are more than your father even hoped for you. But you have become enemies with yourself. You have grown without love I'm afraid."
He must have seen the shock on my face as he continued.
"I am very old," he said. The lines on his face were noticeable. "And as I raised you and your father before you, I am compelled to carry out every one of my promises. As a last duty to your heritage, I am obliged to do one last act."
I thought for a second that he was talking about suicide, but he resumed.
"Your father grew with love and lost it. You continued where he left off. But you have never known love, nor have you tried to find it. This was to be my final duty, but I have failed."
Again I feared for his life.
"One of us will die today, he said with tears in his eyes. Death gives no pleasure, but I have sworn to do this."
He stood up, slowly pulled a large knife out of the calf on the table and held high over his head. It was aimed at the back of his neck as he moved his arms downward.
But I must have failed to learn his motive. For he moved his arms outward, and the knife embedded itself it my chest. In tears, he apologized and begged my forgiveness.
I, in anger could not oblige him. Pulling the blade from my body, I wept, suddenly realizing that I had never truly loved him as he had me.
And as I wept for the first time in my life, I said to him something I had never told him before. "Thank you, my faithful servant."
I forgave him.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story is a copyright of Skye
Maelstrom Faust (Michael Woods), 1998. All rights reserved.