the last gatekeeper

Leif Irlin wasn’t a miserable man by any stretch of the imagination. Being the gatekeeper wasn’t hard, really, was it, it just required some standing and thinking. Both of which he was perfectly equipped to do. He was tall, handsome by anyone’s standards, his black hair was spiky no matter what he did to it, and his red-tinted glasses actually looked good on him.

Not that they were a fashion statement, of course, because being under those two suns all day could really strain the eyes if you weren’t careful. But Irlin was always careful.

Dear Irlin, his teachers had said to him when he was a child, dear Irlin, no less ‘ear’ than ‘Lin’, no more ‘clever’ than ‘bin’. He wasn’t remarkable really, not in any way that mattered. It had upset him, before, but it wasn’t the kind of feeling he would trifle himself with now. Feelings at all, for Irlin, were not something to be trifled with.

Day in and day out he guarded the gate, like generations of Irlin’s before him, all using only their last name, all of them blending into one man like clay on a summer’s day in Kirouk, where he lived. Irlin had never asked for more, but then again, no one had ever asked him for more either. He gave what he got and, largely, did what he was told.

Until one day, someone Important saw him. Important, Kingly, Regal, and all the rest of it. The king of Caravue. Alistair. Not that anyone called him that, obviously. Alistair was better known for partying and singing in taverns than any royal duties. His father Godric had been a tyrant for years, and for the old people who for some reason missed the old cretin? Alistair was simply called the new king.

Well, new or old, regardless of the fact that the man was pushing 50, he was arriving at the gate. Not surrounded by guards, because why on earth would he need them? Alistair was possibly stronger than half the current guildsmen in the town, age be damned (as it usually was). 

“Irlin”, he said on seeing the gatekeeper sweltering away in the late summer sun, “Irlin my boy, it’s no day to be cooking your bones like this.”

They had never exchanged a single word before. Irlin had never even seen the man in person before. It was nothing short of alarming. Horrific, even. He had pronounced his name wrong too, he shouldn’t say anything though, surely he shouldn’t say anything-

“Now, I’ve been talking to your father, and-”

Dear life, there it was. Of course that was what had happened there.

“-I have a tiny job for you. Incredibly easy, lots of walking around, making new friends… You do have friends, don’t you?”

The new king was smiling kindly, and the question was very direct. Too direct. There was simply no way around it-

“No sir, not particularly.”

Moments passed in the sunshine. Long moments, agonising moments, the leaves surrounding the gate seemed to be laughing…

“Not a problem at all, lad! In fact, I really do think you’re perfect for the job. I’m sending someone else to come down here, so you really don’t have to worry your head about the afterwards. It’s all been taken care of, and I’ll of course be paying you handsomely. Your father did say you would make an excellent detective.”

Detective?

“Come on, son, no time to waste, your partner in crime is already up at the palace. let’s go!”

And so he did. But, even as Irlin saw his (what he assumed was temporary) replacement slide into view, right into the gap that his worn footprints had left behind, he knew that he had never really objected once, not once his whole life. He had never wanted more that what he was given.

But… he liked his name. Life above, that really was his name. So he stood up a little straighter, walked a little faster, and kept perfect pace with what they all called the new king.

“By the way, sir. It’s pronounced EAR-LIN. Not ER-LIN.”

And from that day onwards, nobody ever said it incorrectly again.

[Image: A flower. Source: Dani Relbyn. Used with permission.]