Sentry Duty

So instead I traversed the rocks and snow that stood between me and him. A snowstorm was forming behind me, but the wind was at my back and I was well used to the weather conditions anyway. All the same, I began to feel the numbness setting in and knew I would have to get to the peak of the mountain soon and light the beacon before I got frostbite. I felt a stab of indignation, then, as I remembered it wasn't even my turn to watch. Only, I had hiked up to the half-way point to catch a glimpse of the beacon lit before breakfast, as it could not be seen from the village below because of the high plateau which eclipsed it. The plateau was dotted with many lesser beacons, and could be accessed relatively easily with the use of stone steps jutting out from the rock, but even at sunrise it was fraught with hordes of junior sentries scurrying around. So I was stuck on the mountain itself instead. And because I wasn't my watch, I had no fuel to light the beacon with.

Despite this, I felt a sense of duty to investigate. I climbed almost to the top of the mountain and considered yelling for attention, but before I could the stranger looked up from his task and put down, of all things, a candle and a lighter. Questions flurried in my mind.

"Are you next on duty?" he said, gesturing to the badge on my coat.

I shook my head in confusion. It was strange, if not a little unsettling, to hear this from him. He clearly wasn't a sentry -- he hadn't even cleared the snow away from the beacon -- and he wasn't wearing any form of uniform. In fact, he wasn't even wearing a coat, which explained the blue tinge to the tips of his ears and his fingers. I was surprised he hadn't got hypothermia yet.

"Oh," he replied, with something almost like disappointment in his voice, "do you know who is?"

"Uh... I'm afraid there must be some mistake... I mean you're not really--"

"--a sentry?" he asked, eyes wide and innocent like a young boy's.

"Well, yeah," I shrugged, "you need... uniform, and training, and--"

"--can you help me light this candle?"

The question was so unexpected it took me aback for a moment.

"I'm sorry?"

He laughed at this. It was a quiet laugh but echoed dangerously; the kind of laugh that could cause an avalanche.

"Well... I thought that if you aren't going to take over sentry duty, maybe you could help me? Help me light this candle?"

I started to say something, but faltered as he picked up the candle and the lighter and started to climb down from the beacon. I remember that he was surprisingly light on his toes when he leapt down; cat-like almost, like I'd imagined a spy must be. Not that anything else about him seemed like a spy.

"I can't light it, you see," he murmured, holding the candle up and flicking the lighter on. A weak flame glowed for a moment then flickered out almost as soon as it had appeared.

"You..." I shook my head in confusion and started again, "how on earth do you expect to light a candle in this weather? It's never going to work."

"It will," he insisted. He took a deep breath, the trail lingering in the air like woodsmoke as he paced anxiously.

"No... I really don't think..." I sighed at my lack of authority. I had never been good at dealing with awkward people, and I don't know why I had expected that to change so suddenly.

"I don't think you do have to light this candle," I said, firmly this time, "I think you have to put that lighter down and let me escort you to headquarters, where you will be detained until you tell us your business here. I am... yes, that's right, I'm trained in various methods of combat... armed, and unarmed and I'll warn you I am armed right now, so I would strongly suggest that you..."

I sighed again. He was knotting his brows, still trying to light the candle and very obviously not listening. The candlewick had barely been singed at all by his efforts, and the candle itself looked new; as if it had never been properly lit. Not for the first time, I wondered why he was so fixated on lighting it, but pushed the question out of my mind in frustration.

"Look, give it here," I demanded, holding out my hand impatiently. Smiling at this, he handed the candle and the lighter over to me. I used my hand as a makeshift windshield and lit the candle behind it. It blew out straightaway, of course. On the fifth try, it worked and the flame burned brightly, casting shadows onto the thick wool of my gloves. He beamed almost as brightly as the candle and snatched it out of my hands in his excitement. To his disappointment, the candle blew out immediately.

"You have to shield it with your hand, like this," I explained, lighting it again and showing him. He took it from me more carefully this time.

"Oh, I see," he replied, as I rolled my eyes. But before I could so much as open my mouth to order him to walk with me to headquarters right this instance, a faint cry resounded. 

"...shouldn't you get that?" the stranger said, as if it was a phone and not a shout for help. Swearing under my breath, I demanded he stay put and wrapped my scarf a little tighter around my neck. I set off and wondered briefly what I was going to say to those above me when they found out that I'd left a potential spy on his own, but I knew if someone really was in distress I had to act fast.

"Hello?" I called out, panic bubbling up into my voice. There was no time to spare; I was feeling the effects of the cold more than ever, and I at least had a coat. The stranger didn't, and there was no way to tell how badly injured the person in distress was.

"Over here," someone groaned faintly. 

I turned and sprinted in the direction of the voice.

The sentry was lying curled up on the snow, clutching his leg the way the people in the military tutorials always used to. The hood of his jacket obscured his face, but I could see his breath forming droplets in front of him in the frigid air. A good sign.

"Are you okay?" I asked weakly, painfully aware of how stupid I sounded.

"What do you think?" he seemed to mumble. 

I decided it was best not to answer, and so instead lifted him out of the snow and over my shoulder. He soon became silent; not because he was unconscious, but perhaps because his leg was causing him a wordless pain not even he could complain about. I knew him and his sharp wit; its absence worried me. But not more than the cold did.

Making my way further down the mountain, I remembered that there was a shelter not far away. It wasn't ideal, but already I could feel the weather leaching the warmth from the sentry's bones, and I couldn't risk him dying before I could even get him to the hospital. Besides, the shelter was warm, dry, and well-supplied; I knew this from hiding away from a blizzard myself a couple of years back. I also knew he'd have a rough time of it; I still remember the way the snow plays tricks on the mind. You can sense it without seeing it or hearing it; the movement of it when it falls, but most of all the silence of it when it has settled, and you know but dare not go outside to check. The way the cold creeps up on you like an assassin, if you let it. Of course, we're trained not to let anything catch us unawares, but there's something about solitude that has a way of making training matter a little less.

Perhaps it was that that made me leave him there in search of the stranger. 

I wasn't completely out of my mind -- I sounded the alarm as soon as I got to the shelter -- but I could still feel the leaden weight in my stomach, the stupidity of it all. Either way I was leaving my post; it was wrong to abandon the sentry in the shelter, but somehow it felt worse to leave the stranger -- the potential spy -- in the cold, lighting that candle. It wasn't a situation that could have been simulated as any training exercise; even if it had, I feel like I would have done what I did anyway....not out of compassion or weakness, like you think of me, but because of the strange magnetism he held; the strong sense of purpose in his eyes. I know duty --  I know you don't think I do, now that I've said all this -- but I do, I know duty. And him, the candle, the lighter; they were all part of some duty he knew and I didn't. There's no way I couldn't have gone back to help him carry it out.

Well, I'm guessing you have everything you want from me now. That's the only part of the story you wanted me to recount - even though you never said so - so you might as well press pause right here and stop the tape. I know you'll only discount the next part as madness; like I said, the snow can play tricks with your mind. Well, maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but if you don't mind I'm going to keep on talking anyway. 

Walking back up the hill, I saw the stranger hadn't moved from his position. He crouched there still, his posture almost mournful. If I hadn't have known better, I would have said he was bent in lone prayer.

"Oh, you came back?" he feigned disinterest. I noted the candle lying unused next to him; the duty still heavy in his eyes.

"Of course, I came to--"

"--escort me back to headquarters, blah-di-blah-di-blah."

I shook my head, smiling a little, "come on, I'll help you light the candle."

His eyes flickered away, and I saw a strained smile stretch his lips.

"No, I can't," he lifted up the match box, empty, "I'm all out."

"Oh," I didn't understand; he'd looked so certain when he told me he'd manage to light it that I realised I had believed him myself.

"It's alright, though; I'll find a way. I'm a sentry, you see," he winked.

This time, I didn't contradict him, "well, like I said, I'm not next on watch."

Was I making a joke? He certainly seemed to think I was; he giggled quietly, the tip of his nose flame red. 

With a sudden urgency, he grabbed my arm, "quick, I'll show you something."

"See that over there?" he whispered, pointing out into the distance. I had to stop myself from glancing away as usual; overwhelmed by the expanse spread like a pall beyond me. The sastrugi reached with their bloodless veins, and I couldn't help but notice how their shadows seemed to flicker and dance with the passing of the clouds overhead. The Danse Macabre. It was a tale I remembered from the early training exercises, when all us new sentries would gather by the bonfire and try to scare each other into keeping awake, keeping watch. I hadn't given it much thought since, but something about the light's ghostly movement seemed to evoke the same spirit. 

"What are they?" I couldn't stop the words tumbling out of my mouth. It was silly; of course I knew what they were. They were shadows, and no more. But the stranger grinned at my question, pleased at this response. If it warranted an answer, he gave me none, and instead shifted his feet, satisfied.

"Do you understand now?"

I decided he was insane, but found myself nodding, "yes."

The light shifted, and a cloud passed over, its penumbra extinguishing the shade. For some reason I thought back to the junior sentries and the way they darted like shadows in their dark cloaks. Then I thought of the shadows' Danse Macabre, and the annual ceremony we held that initiated those sentries; the way I danced until my limbs burned and I couldn't feel the sting of the snow underfoot.

"Tell me, what exactly are these beacons for?" he sounded genuinely curious. I felt a familiar knot of guilt and tried to avoid labelling it.

"You know what."

"Yeah, I suppose I do," he shrugged, "but it might be a little different to what you've been told."

"What do you mean?" the words seemed to slip out, beyond my control.

He ignored the question, "but I guess you know that, don't you?"

I was very aware of his gaze on me; I could feel its heat, but dared not meet it. 

"You see those shadows? You'd like to only call them shadows, wouldn't you? We're both guides to the unwilling, really."

Guides to the unwilling. God, how I'd hoped that wasn't what it really was. The thing with duty is, you've got to just follow the orders, not question them. The Danse Macabre was just a tale we used to scare the junior sentries. It wasn't us that lead anyone to it.

"Beacons have many purposes, and so do candles," he said, and I could have sworn his face was more lined than it had been last, "in truth, there are many ways to light both, too. Some involve matches and some don't."

His words wrought wrinkles on my brow. I opened my mouth to reply, although I don't know what I would have said. In any case, a breeze blew, and I found myself suddenly blinded by the wind. When my vision was handed back to me, I couldn't see the stranger anywhere. It occurred to me that maybe he had fallen off the mountain with the force of the gust. I peered down to check, but didn't see a body anywhere. It wasn't unlikely that maybe one was down there. It wasn't unlikely that maybe many were down there. It was certainly the most likely option. He was probably a spy anyway.

But I couldn't shake off a feeling of unease. The shadows seemed to flit somewhat closer, drawn as if moths to a flame, to use the old cliché. And then I noticed the feeling of heat behind me. I snapped my body round. The beacon was burning, brighter than ever, like some sort of miracle. In the growing light, it glowed almost eerily. The flames danced, casting shadows. A cloud passed over, as before, and this time they kept on dancing, hauntingly, as if given some form of life beyond themselves by the firelight. The stranger was still nowhere to be seen. The last thing I noticed about him was the scent of blown-out candles, sillage-like in the mountain air.