Page 12 of Dawn of Hope
“In short, they need a miracle. A cure. Something to save the life of those they love, healing injury and combating illnesses that plague them. Some, desperate enough to save a loved one, would give up everything they had, or do anything they could to save a child, a spouse, a parent, a sibling, even a friend.”
This no longer feels like a coincidence. This lesson is targeted. Edmond must know. He must have talked to my father last night, or the healer, at the least. But what I cannot figure out is the reason.
There is no longer any hope, the healer said so himself. She needs to be let go, and if anyone needs to hear this story about doing anything to save someone they love, maybe it is my father. Maybe he should do something more with his influence and power than hold vigil by her bedside for twenty years.
He continues.
“Many tales have been passed down through the generations, talking of different treatments to cure certain ailments, but alas, nothing is guaranteed. Many people still die or are permanently changed from their injury for the rest of their lives.”
He stops, and I remain silent. He seems to be contemplating how to tell the next part of the story, or whether he to tell it at all. He has built itup this far, and I need him to finish, need to know why he is telling it, and how this pertains to me. What lesson is he trying to teach me?
The pause finally ends, as if he is convinced I am listening, and it is worth finishing.
“There is a myth of a land named Dawnlin. The story has been passed down through generations. The myth states that this land contains an element of some sort said to cure any disease or heal any injury, restoring the perfect health to a person. The land itself is shrouded in secrecy. No one truly knows how to find it, and no one truly knows what the element is.
“There have been no confirmed cases of some sort of magical element, only stories of miraculous recoveries in people who were otherwise doomed to die. The accounts of the family members or friends do not shed any light on the recoveries, as they swear they do not know how it happened. No one can confirm that any sort of element or elixir was used, only that the patient, who many times was ready to part from this world, was instead back to their normal ways in the blink of an eye.
“As you can assume, this magical element, if it did exist, would be highly coveted. The number of people who would fight to get their hands on it for personal gains, control, and influence in our kingdoms could be astronomical. Can you imagine the number of people who would do or pay anything to use it? To ensure they or someone they loved wouldn’t die? Or those who would hoard that power over others for their own gain?”
“I can imagine that there would be many people who would use it to extort others,” I say. The possibilities would be endless. I can only imagine the shift in power or the sheer amount of gold that would be paid to obtain it. Would men or women who hoarded this magic take over and rule the land, deciding who would live and who would die? Would kings give up their kingdoms in order to save someone they loved?
Would my father give up his for my mother?
I push the thought away as quickly as it comes into my mind, focusing back on Edmond.
“That is where the Guardian comes in. It is said that the land of Dawnlin is protected by a guardian, a being who is the only one who can bring people on and off the island. The Guardian is the gatekeeper, the one that gives the chance to obtain the elixir to those who truly need it. The Guardian’s identity is unknown, and how he or she travels there is a complete mystery. No one knows how the island selects who is brought there, or why, but that doesn’t stop the hope that one will be chosen.
“It has been many years now since such a miraculous recovery has occurred, making people wonder if Dawnlin actually exists, or if something has happened to the Guardian. Though much time has passed, hope is not lost, as those who are desperate for a cure still wait to see if such a grace will be bestowed upon them.”
I wait for him to continue, but he just looks at me as if expecting a reaction.
He tilts his head to the side as he gazes at my face. “You seem disappointed.”
Edmond can always tell my genuine emotions, no matter how much I try to hide them. He can always pick apart even the most stoic looks on my face.
This isn’t one of those times.
I quickly loosen my lips and school my face back into a neutral position, not realizing my lips had been pressed together, my eyebrows drawn down. My feelings must be written all over my face.
“That wasn’t what I was expecting when you said you were going to tell a story.”
“Is the story of a mythical land that holds a magical cure for all illness and injury not a story enough?”
“I was just expecting…a plot.”
“Not all stories need characters to learn from. Even the simplest of stories can teach us.”
“Fair,” I say. Edmond is like this often. He enjoys teaching in puzzles, pushing me to pull information from what he says instead of just talking at me and expecting me to regurgitate information. He likes to make me think.
“Are there any lessons you can garner from it?”
I think for a minute. I know this story is really special to him, but to me, that is all it is. A story. It sounds like one designed to give people hope, making them wish the Guardian would appear one day, and give them the ability to save someone they love. But that is where it ends.
Hope.
Hope for the families, hope for the ill. Maybe it gives a person peace, feeling they could be saved, but would that not make it more difficult to accept their fate when they aren’t? Isn’t it better to acknowledge it for what it is, a hope that will never be, and move forward with what you can control, processing the grief of loss and not believing in some sort of mythical magic?
The pain from last night floods my body as I relive all the dashed hopes of never meeting my mother. I clench my fists, taking a deep breath as my eyes flutter closed. I don’t want to go through this again, especially since I worked so hard to distract myself and forget.