Chapter 37

“Treespeech is the final crux between the Arbolers and Seculars today. While Seculars may spend all day and all night, listing off every lack of evidence of the existence of magic, they have failed to successfully dismiss treespeech.

“If one touches Life and speaks, she will speak back in a personal, intimate, magical way. It cannot be described, only experienced. So, instead, the Seculars simply avoid treespeech altogether, saying it is impractical, unnecessary, and downright embarrassing to find yourself talking to a plant.”

Faith in the Guardian by Grand Arboler Norman Thicket, year 4021

Truth

It was like looking into the mirror, except that his reflection looked a few years older, had a full, well-trimmed beard, had seen more sun, and looked in better shape. He wore green mage robes, but with far more embroideries along the chest and shoulders than the current robes Oliver wore now. In his right hand, he held a white staff, and in his left, the white, time-traveling Wand of Life.

With the beard, the outfit, the weapons, and the extra age on him… he looked like….

No, Oliver thought. That’s impossible.

“Hey good lookin’,” future Oliver said. With a flip of his white wand, the vortex closed behind him. He stuffed the wand into his robes.

“You…” Oliver stuttered.

“Me!” future Oliver said with a smirk. “You! Us!”

“How—?” Oliver licked his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” He looked down at the woman on the ground. Smoke still rose from her chest. “Saving my life, of course. Gotta watch out for my own skin, you know?” He stepped over her corpse and looked at Oliver. “Also, Life sent me. You asked to be saved, remember?”

Oliver’s stomach dropped. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t think that….”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Future Oliver said. “You would never ask Life for help, right?” He gave Oliver a sarcastic smile as he strolled by, using his white staff as a walking stick. “Tonight is a big night for you, Oliver. Probably the most important night of your life.”

Oliver’s mind was whirling. Time travel was strange and confusing to begin with, but seeing his future self right in front of him… it was disturbing. It had so many implications involved. Implications he wasn’t quite ready to accept. “Who—who are you?” he asked.

The bearded man didn’t turn around. He continued to stare at… at nothing really. Just the forest beyond. “That’s not your true question,” he said. “You know who I am. What you truly seek is… if I am the Guardian of Magic or not?”

“No, I already know the answer to that. You can’t be. It’s impossible. It would make as much sense as a fire underwater!” Oliver spoke louder than he’d intended, his fists tightening.

“Not necessarily.” The man turned around and smirked at Oliver. “A rocket can burn fire underwater, can’t it?”

Oliver groaned. “Mages, you know what I flaming mean! With everything that has happened lately, there is absolutely no way I could be the Guardian of Magic! It’s impossible!”

“Why?”

“Flames, tell me the truth! You’re not the Guardian, are you? You can’t be!”

“Oh, so you do want to know if I’m the Guardian.”

Engulfed with rage, Oliver stooped over Queen Charol’s body and picked up her mahogany staff. Its magical electricity was extinguished, but it still had a bladed tip. This is like arguing with a brother! Oliver thought. He’s pressing all my buttons! “You’re not the Guardian!” Oliver said. “You can’t be!”

The bearded man maintained his smirk and shrugged. “But I am.”

“Then who are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m you from the future. I’m Oliver Kapur.”

“Lies! You’re a false pretender who looks like me! You’re some sort of conman trying to trick me!”

“Hm… sounds a lot like what you’ve been doing lately.”

Oliver’s blood began to boil. He pointed at the man. “Look! Just stop talking and use your wand to take me back home!”

The mage raised his hands up to his shoulders, his palms upwards. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“Flaming ashes, you do to! You just time traveled here!”

“Yes, but not of my own accord. I have to wait for the Tree of Life to show me the new Carving. She decides where I go, not me. And now’s not the time for you to go. Not yet.”

“Yes, it is! I’m done! There’s nothing more I can do!” Oliver lowered the staff’s bladed tip at the man. “Now take me home or give me the wand!”

The bearded man chuckled. “No.”

Oliver charged, pulling back his staff. “Then I’ll take it from you!” He swung hard at the man, twisting his hips for maximum momentum.

At the last second, the man raised his white staff and—without blinking—blocked Oliver’s blow.

Oliver spun, twirling his staff in a flurry—the way Ashley taught him—and struck at the man from another angle.

Blocked.

He struck again and again, spinning, thrusting, and kicking.

But, like a choreographed routine, the man moved preemptively, as if he could read Oliver’s mind. He raised his staff or dodged long before the attack arrived. His movements were sharp and crisp; much more advanced than Ilan’s or Ashley’s. Maybe even better than Silas.

“I know I’m one to beat myself up,” the man said. “But this is just ridiculous.”

Oliver gritted his teeth, wishing he could hit him. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why’d you become the Guardian?”

“Now we’re getting to good questions.” The man gave a confident smirk as he casually blocked another swing. “Don’t ask me. Ask yourself. I made that decision three years ago. In this grove. On this night. Right after I stupidly decided to fight the future version of myself… and failed miserably.”

Oliver lunged at him, trying to stab him with the staff’s bladed tip, but the man effortlessly nudged his staff off course with a flick of his wrist.

“All I care about is going home!” Oliver said. “This age doesn’t need my help! I only made things worse!”

“And you think you’ll make home better?” the man asked.

“Of course! I’m the Secular Branch Leader!”

“For your information, the Seculars win the debate without your help.”

Oliver froze, pausing the skirmish. “They did? Or… they will? How?”

“Terick takes over the debate.”

“Terick….” He tilted his head to the side. “Isn’t it bad to tell someone their future? Especially yourself?”

“Yeah, typically.” The man tilted his head the same way. “But I wasn’t there to see the verdict myself. I’m only telling you because I heard it from the future version of myself the same way you’re hearing it now. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have defeated Lennox. Smart guy, that future Oliver.”

“Defeat Lennox?” Oliver clenched his staff. “I won’t stand a chance against Lennox! He’ll kill me!”

“You’ll be fine!” The man pointed to himself. “I’m here, aren’t I? That means you live. Pretty obvious really.”

“Well, great!” Oliver said. “Why don’t you go defeat him, then? I’ll wait here until you’re done!”

The man laughed. “I’ve already defeated Lennox. Three years ago. Just the day after fighting the future—ahem, and more handsome—version of myself. Ah… I can remember it as if it were yesterday. I can even remember when he did… this!”

The man dashed forward, making an attack of his own. Oliver barely got his staff in place to parry the swing, saving his face from a broken nose.

“Here’s the real problem,” the man-with-Oliver’s-face said, keeping Oliver on his heels. “Here’s what you’ve got to work on, Younger-Me. You haven’t said out loud what it is you’re afraid of. It isn’t Lennox. It isn’t death, necessarily. You know what it is…. Believe me, I know you know what it is. You just haven’t asked the right question yet. You’re in denial.”

The man swung his staff downward. Oliver barely blocked it. The man pushed Oliver backward until he pressed him up against the Tree’s trunk, pinning him with his staff. They glared as they pushed against each other, sweat beading on Oliver’s brow.

“Come on,” the man said. “Spit it out!”

Oliver scowled, wanting to claw the man’s eyes out, but couldn’t. “Ilan.” He struggled to keep the man from crushing him. “Ben.”

“Yes. Good, you’re on the right track. Now what’s your question?” The man pressed down harder. “What is it?”

“Why—?” Oliver felt an emotional upsurge course though him, like fire on ice. A question that evoked every ounce of guilt and rage that festered in his soul. A knot formed in his throat as he screamed the words. “WHY DID YOU LET THEM DIE?”

He heaved, pushing the man off him, and then—blinded by rage and unexpected tears—he charged after him, swinging his staff with all his might.

“If I am the Guardian of Magic,” he shouted as he fought, “then why would I allow Ben and Ilan to die? Why would I let Cambium fall?” He drove the bearded man backwards, but never penetrated his defenses. “If I can time travel, then why wouldn’t I go back and fix those things? How could I live with myself, knowing I had the power to save them but didn’t use it?” Oliver pivoted his feet and kept swinging his staff, relentless. “And here is a man who claims to be the future me… and the Guardian! If that were true, it would mean I had to be a soulless coward devoid of any compassion whatsoever!” Oliver gritted his teeth as he spoke. “Who wouldn’t hate themselves if they found out that’s who they truly are?”

The man still blocked every blow. “Good,” he said, softly. “Right questions.”

The man moved in a blur; his staff spun like a bladed fan. He blocked a swing from the side, twisted on one foot, and used the other to kick Oliver in the stomach. Before he had a chance to groan in pain, the man brought his staff around and cracked it against Oliver’s left shoulder, and then his right ankle, knocking it out from underneath him. Oliver landed on his back with a thud, dazed.

The man kicked the mahogany staff away and stood over Oliver. “The answer is simpler than you’d expect,” he said. “My job isn’t to save every single person from dying, Oliver. That would be impossible. Both for me and for the Tree of Life.”

The bearded man pointed at the tree. “She is the only immortal being on this planet. All her other creations are mortal. The reason you’re confused is because you don’t understand who the Guardian of Magic really is.

“You’ve grown up in an age mixed with science and religion. Seculars and Arbolers. Ascendists and Reborns. So many facts and opinions it’s hard to keep them straight. Some think I go to the ascensions between millennia and drink holy nectar that puts me in a thousand-year sleep until I need to wake up and save people again. Seriously? Some people think I die and am reborn for every Age. Some think I’m just a myth that was extrapolated from amazing stories throughout history.” The bearded man paused. “And you believe the Guardian of Magic can’t exist, because if he did, he wouldn’t have let your brother get killed—and killed by a tree of all things.

“No one has ever said our god would save everyone from their hardships. And yet, that’s what so many people like you believe, just so they can have someone to blame for all the terrible things that happen.

“And the truth has been staring everyone right in the face; it’s in my title. Oliver, what am I the guardian of?”

Oliver lay on his back, still slightly dazed. He hesitated to answer. He knew answering the question would be admitting that the man before him was the Guardian. It would mean he himself was the Guardian. Could he really do that? Could he argue with his logic? It was logic that felt familiar. The same type of logic he himself would make. He… is… me.

“Magic,” Oliver muttered, feeling his insides twist with shame and guilt.

“Yes, magic!” The bearded man—the Guardian—said enthusiastically. “And who is the creator of magic?”

Oliver thought about it. “Life.”

The Guardian gestured to the Tree of Life beside them. “The one thing all the religions got right, and the Seculars got wrong is that the Tree of Life truly is a divine being. An immortal god, if you will. However, She is not as benevolent as people think. Nor as powerful. She has only the ability to create life—which is quite amazing—but She cannot protect herself. She’s vulnerable to fire like any ordinary tree. So, she called me to be her Guardian and protector throughout the Ages.

“My title would be more correct as the Guardian of Life, but over the Ages, people have corrupted my Instructions. What I’m telling you now is something I’ve told the people of every Age, but facts repeatedly get turned into myths and strange religions. No matter how hard I try, people always exaggerate the truth. One day, you’ll understand how frustrating that is.”

Oliver pushed himself to a sitting position, considering the man’s words. “And why didn’t you save Ben and Ilan?”

“I can’t go back in time to whenever I want. Life controls time travel. It’s all up to Her.”

Oliver scowled. “Why won’t she let you have a say in it?”

“She knows better than I. At first, I didn’t believe it, but over time, I came to trust Her wisdom. And I healed. Ben and Ilan’s deaths helped me become who I am today.”

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows. This information was surprisingly revealing. Perhaps I did have a misconstrued perception of who the Guardian of Magic was—we all did—and what he was supposed to do, he thought. But what about…. “So, if your… my… only job is to save the Tree of Life,” Oliver said, “then, why do I need to defeat Lennox Elmson?”

The Guardian nodded, expecting the question even before it came. “After leveling Magen City, Lennox intends to burn down the Tree of Life. He has been deceived by Ignis.”

“Ignis,” Oliver said, skeptically. “As in, the fiery demon, Ignis?”

“The one and only.”

Oliver added that to his growing list of things he thought were fake but were actually real. “Okay… so what do I have to do?”

The Guardian laughed. “We’ve reached the point where I can’t tell you your future, buddy. But I do need to get you geared up.” He walked over to the Tree of Life and placed his hand on its trunk.

The ground shook. Oliver climbed to his feet but kept his hands on the ground to keep himself stable. Directly in front of the Tree, a white staff sprung out of the ground, like a tall blade of grass growing in a time-lapse video filmed by a drone. The ground stilled, and the staff stood upright, as if held steady by a root from underneath. He turned to the Guardian.

“Go ahead,” the Guardian said. “Take it. It’s yours. I already have my own.”

Oliver noticed then that the white staff in the Guardian’s hands was identical to the one that had magically appeared. Unlike any other staff Oliver’d seen up to this point, the white staff before him had intricate designs and etchings from top to bottom. A weaving pattern of vines wrapped around its body giving it an unparalleled, sanctified beauty. It took two hands to pull the staff from out of the ground, like pulling out a long weed. The point where it broke off had a sharp edge; that was the bladed tip. He rubbed his hands along the designs, admiring the extra grip they provided.

“The Staff of Life or the Guardian’s Staff—however you want to call it—has the ability to Cast the magic of any wood,” the Guardian said. “And more importantly, its magic never extinguishes.”

Oliver stared at the staff as he heard the Guardian’s words. A staff that never runs out of magic? he thought. Amazing.

“To Cast fire, you perform the Carving for ash. And to stop Casting fire, you repeat the Carving for ash, and it stops. Simple as that.” The Guardian grinned. “Try mixing up some of the magic in ways you’ve never seen before. You’ll be impressed, I promise.”

“Wow,” Oliver muttered.

Once again, the ground started to shake, but this time it was more rhythmic. A deep hum filled the air. He looked up at Life. The entire Tree seemed to vibrate with energy. Between the bark, tiny slits seemed to open up and a surge of bright, white light streamed through them. The slits, when looked at together, seemed to form some sort of pattern on the trunk that felt familiar to him.

“This is the same thing I saw just before Silas took me back in time,” Oliver said. “It’s a Carving, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.” Future Oliver pulled his white wand out of his robe. It was pulsing white light, like a fluorescent light pole, flashing in a slow rhythm in synchrony with Life’s vibrations. “That means it’s time for me to go,” he said. He looked at Oliver. “It’s been fun. This was a good moment to re-live.

“Wait. That’s it? You’re leaving?” Oliver stepped toward the Guardian to stop him, desperate. “Take me home with you!”

“I don’t know if I’m going home.” He studied the Carving etched by light on Life’s trunk and began twirling his wand in a blur. “I just go where Life sends me.”

He finished the routine and Cast another vortex in front of him. Purplish white electricity ran around its edges. Through the vortex, Oliver could see an image of the same forest he was currently in, but the trees and plants there seemed younger and vibrant with buds still growing into flowers. It looked like spring there. Whenever there was.

Oliver looked back at the Guardian, who gave a big sigh, looking slightly disappointed. “Why not stay?” Oliver asked. “Why go wherever She sends you?”

“If I don’t go, Life may be killed,” the Guardian said. “And if She’s killed… well I don’t really know what will happen, but I assume the world will end.”

“Do you have to go now? Can’t you stay here a while and then go when you want?”

“If I’d delayed even a second in coming here, then you’d be dead.” He gestured to Queen Charol on the ground. “Life usually sends me to a moment in time when I’m most desperately needed.”

“B—but… I’m not ready! I can’t defeat Lennox! I’m not ready to be the Guardian of Magic! I don’t even know who I am anymore!”

“I know!” The Guardian laughed as he stepped through the vortex and looked back at Oliver. Sunlight from that time lit the side of his face while Oliver remained in the dark night of the year 2000. “That’s what everyone has been trying to tell you!”

“What do you mean?”

“Oliver,” he said slowly. “You just don’t know who you really are yet.”

A cold realization settled over Oliver, like a heavy mist over a deep valley. Those were the same words Kimberly had said. The same words Parley, the Grand Arboler had said. He thought they were both crazy, but to hear them again… and to hear them from….

Oliver gazed at the man on the other side of the vortex. He looked beyond the differences: the beard, the age, the smug grin on his face. He stared into his eyes.

That’s me.

That’s really me.

He was looking at himself. A mirror image distorted only by time. This was the man he would eventually become. The Protector of Peace. The Advent of Ages.

He is me and I am him.

I am the Guardian of Magic.

Reading Oliver’s thoughts, the Guardian on the other side of the vortex nodded. “That’s right.”

He then looked to the side, as if he heard something on his side of the vortex. He looked back. “You know, most people wish they could get the chance to go back in time and tell their past selves what to expect in the future. I’m the only one who gets that chance.”

He turned his head again, hearing something, and turned back.

“This is all I can say. Your life has been saved. Now use it to save others. There’s nothing more fulfilling than being someone’s savior. Believe me. I know.” He paused. “You can’t save everyone… but save who you can.”

The Guardian of Magic gave Oliver a salute, the same salute the mages gave, fist over heart, and then he twirled his wand and the vortex closed.