Today I buried my father. Although Dalt is my father by blood, Troy is and always will be the father of my heart. Dalt taught me the skills of combat but Troy taught me how to survive, how to live, and the wisdom to know the difference between the two.
I was running through the streets on my way home trying to stay out of sight of the scouting patrol. I was no more than 13 at the time but old enough to know that if I got caught I would end up in line for the chopping block. I had pilfered some vegetables from the Kings own garden the week before and unfortunately one guard saw my face before I could make a quick escape. This meant I needed to lie low for awhile and out of sight. Yet there were things to do so I could not stay safe at home.
I was but a yard from home when I saw it. There in front of me was a group of men from the scouting patrol. I recognized their dark outfits and the cold insignia of the bloody crescent moon. My heart started to pound and my blood rushed to my ears as I heard one call out,"Stop..thief." At first I thought they were talking to me but then I saw them run in the opposite direction. I don't know what possessed me but I found myself following them when I should have been running the other way. I saw a sight that still haunts my dreams to this day.
The scouts had caught their thief, not one but two! The first was a child of no more than 6 the other maybe 8. The leader of the scouts yelled out, "People of Q'rin....be witness to what befalls those that steal." Then before I could even react the two guards holding the children slit their throats. "Remember this site.....punishment will be dealt swiftly." screamed the leader as the life drained from the children. As their bodies hit the dirt I saw a piece of bread fall from one hand and a squash from the other. As I looked into their lifeless faces...I recalled their names, Mina and Gaul. One thought entered my mind....who will tell their mother that their life was worth less than bread.
Eventually I made my way home and entered my house....well more like a hovel but it kept us dry. Troy was home sitting by the fire. He grunted a greeting to me as he continued to whittle on a piece of wood. It was his favorite pastime. I mumbled what I hoped passed for a greeting and made my way to my room. I lay on the bed and mentally went through my sword exercises for an hour. When that didn't work I made a list of things that needed to be done around the house and yet no matter what I did I continued to see two lifeless faces staring at me. A few minutes later Troy was standing by my bed. I looked up into his eyes and without saying a word he knew something was wrong. I calmly related to him what I had witnessed in the marketplace earlier. I was deeply troubled though my voice did not show it. I shed no tears....there was none left to shed, they had been used up long before this.
Troy laid a hand on my shoulder but did not tell me it would be all right. I knew better and Troy would not offer platitudes that were lies. Yet for just that moment I could almost wish he would hold me in his arms and lie....so that for just a second I could pretend everything was fine. With eyes tired from all I had seen I asked him,"What does it all mean? What is the point of anything when stuff like this happen. Why fight it?" As I looked into his eyes I saw something I had rarely seen, anger. In a controlled voice he said,"Come with me." I got up and followed him into the night.
Quietly we made our way through the town till we were just outside someone's home. Troy pointed to the window and bade me to look inside. Inside I saw a family of four. A mother was rocking a baby. A father was showing his son how to carve. We went from house to house that night each showing a different scene and yet having a common thread. Not a word passed between Troy and I until we returned home. Then he sat me down in our only chair and began to pace in front of me collecting his thoughts. He stopped in front of me staring me in the eye and I knew I needed to pay attention for he stood absolutely still. Troy only stood still when he had something important and usually profound to say. I waited patiently for him to speak...and when he did it moved me,"Life isn't about what you saw earlier in the marketplace. It is about what you saw in those homes. It is for those happy memories, few and far between though they may be, that we fight. It is those precious moments that we live and die for!"
As I sit here on Troy's grave his words seem to whisper through the trees and I shed a tear I thought no longer existed.