The Glare

II.

“Oh, Fairfax,” Bartholomew mused in sadness, “Why? You knew the risks, the cost of your choices. Did you not think of the daughter and Keepers that you would betray? If only you had stayed to help us keep Tiesa safe. We could have healed the Schism and brought unity back to the Keepers. Friend, we had done so much good together, seen so much, yet the work wasn’t done.”

As Bartholomew continued to mourn the loss of his friend and fellow Keeper, he left the Chamber and wandered to reach the central tower that lent its name to the Lighthouse. As he reached the gates, crossing the open, deserted courtyard, he stopped, consumed by grief. He looked toward the light emanating from above to give him strength, clutching tightly to his staff, seeking to let the light fill him, his eyes open to receive the rays. The light began to dim from the grey dusk to the dark of night. As the light faded, Bartholomew lowered his head and eased his grip on his staff, again striding forward to greet the guards. Bartholomew raised his staff, allowing the crystal to be seen and catch the last flickers of light before the day ended, scattering them across the guards’ dark knee-length cloaks. The gates opened inward, allowing Bartholomew to sweep in, his white cape billowing in the breeze, bright amidst the oncoming darkness. Bartholomew enters the darkness, his crystal beginning to glow to shed light on his path, sending glimmers of light to guide his footsteps. He continued on, consumed in the darkness.

*

Waves crash against the surf, the white foam mixing with the blue so dark it’s almost black, swirling together in a beautiful chaotic harmony. A young man walks alongside the beach. Tall and thin, agitated, yet trying to keep the agitation hidden.

“Peace is not meant to be peaceful, but harmoniously opposed. As the waves mingle light and dark, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, so must we.”

He thought through the ideas that had crossed his lips, hearing how they sounded in the crisp, sea-air, continuing his purposefully stride to a hidden cove up ahead. Etched into the wall was a symbol, appearing to be simple graffiti, carved by reckless teenagers. A ‘V’ above two dots over a rectangle with only three sides. Together the etchings created a face glaring at any arriving guests, questioning their true motives, driving away those superstitious and fearful.

Seagulls flocked around descending as the young man neared the cove’s entrance, his dark knee-length coat whipping menacingly, contrasting sharply with the whiteness of the gulls. Turning sharply, he enters the cove, passing the Glare, stirring the gulls into panicked flight, shielding his exact point of entrance from any onlookers, crucial to the success of the band of individuals currently gathered to hatch a sinister plot.

The group that had gathered was known by many names, most derogatory and negative, but the name the band took upon themselves was The Glare. Intentionally filled with double meaning, they prided themselves on the connection to light and the blinding effect it can have as well as the fierce, anger filled stare of one that has been wronged by another. Hoping to use Light to their advantage to become a glare in the eyes of the Keepers, using the very light the Keepers were sworn to protect, in order to usurp their power, gaining the control they believed was rightfully theirs and in the best interests of all of Tiesa.

“Friends! The foul deeds of the Keepers today are a further sign of the action that must be taken and the retribution that we must deliver. The light that we have seen is greater and must be shared. As the old Keeper adage goes, ‘Light brings life.’ The Keepers are inhibiting life, by hoarding the light that rightfully should be shared with all of Tiesa!”

Shouts rang out, cheers erupted; the sound echoed throughout the cove, ricocheting off the walls, building into a cascade of passionate cries, fueled by anger at the actions of the Keepers.

The young man, who had entered the cave surrounded by seagulls, raised his hands to quiet the volcanic band.

“Friends, today, five men were cruelly killed for what the Keepers unjustly term a crime nigh unto treachery. Akin to heresy! This cannot continue. They were the last to fight within the Lighthouse, seeking to bridge the Schism with words, discourse, and diplomacy. That has failed and we are left with no choice. The Glare will be felt. No longer will we look on with disdain as friends and family are deceived. The Lighthouse must be abolished. Even as I was once blinded by the Light, so must we cause our Glare to blind,” as these words were spoken, the crowd again erupted in cheers, raising pistols that covered the spectrum, appearing very similar to what could be seen in the hands of someone in the old West, on a pirate ship or in the French Revolution. However, these pistols appeared to be modified to use crystals as their only form of powder and bullets. Chants of ‘The Glare’ filled the room, referring not to the band as a whole, but to the young man, arms raised, with a burn running through his right eye about halfway down his cheek. To hide the scar and the disfigurement done to his eye, he wore a black patch, with the symbol of The Glare sewn on in white.

“Yes. To the Glare! Peace is not meant to be peaceful, but harmonious opposition, continuous contention. As the waves mingle light and dark, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, so must we.” His speech concluded, The Glare stepped down from his pulpit, moving amongst his devoted followers, clasping their hands and arms tightly with a look of impassioned determination etched into his face.

Empty bottles were piled in a corner of the cave; the same symbol graced their fronts that marked the entrance to the secret lair. Next to the bottles, sat a sturdy man, difficult to place in age, but lost over the hill, the wear of time and despair was clear in his face. The Glare moved his way over to him, needing to discuss something. As The Glare worked his way through the crowd those new to the group asked the familiar questions. “Why does he wear the patch?’ Where did he come from? How is one so young, so powerful? Is he The Glare? The one that started it all? A grizzled member of the group spoke up, “Aye, mates. The legend of The Glare is truth.”

Gasps. Feverish whispers sprouted everywhere. What? The legend lives?

For the benefit of the reader a popular version of the Legend of The Glare is included below:

The quakes from the Schism were still reverberating around the Lighthouse as a small child was found, an orphan, with a strange medallion around his neck. The medallion contained a symbol, a ‘V’ over a bottomless rectangle, the basis of what would later strike fear into the hearts of Keepers everywhere, The Glare. The child was raised as a Keeper- taught the ways and becoming well versed in the adages and phrases common to the Keepers. His name was not known and simply never replaced, referred to as Child or occasionally Emerald due to the fierce green color of his eyes. The boy never knew his parents, but was taken in by the Keepers and raised as if he were their own. Two conflicting schools of thought were found in the Lighthouse in the aftermath of the Schism, one less orthodox and viewed slightly less favorably, even dangerously. Apprentice Keepers learned the ways of both schools, choosing for themselves, the Leader striving to achieve harmony through opposition, an idea that has colored The Glare’s philosophy to this day.

As Emerald reached the age of 16, he allied himself with the unorthodox Keepers, but hoping for more widespread embracing of his ideals. A new Leader gained control, who had lost his brother to unorthodox Keepers. There was a large percentage of the unorthodox Keepers that left the Lighthouse entirely, confused by the new teachings and revelations. The new Leader’s brother had been one such Keeper, in stark contrast to his strict adherence to the orthodoxy and obedience to precedent as set by previous Leaders.

The hostility grew until Emerald could stand it no longer and went to confront the Leader. However, in this confrontation in the heights of the Radiant Tower, Emerald cast his eye upon the Source of the Light itself, seeing everything. The sheer power of the light burned his skin and caused blindness in his right eye. He has never forgotten what he saw. Though too great to be named, the experience reinforced his belief that ‘Light brings life.’

Emerald was thought mad and to have leapt from the tower prior to recording the message. Emerald had a group of followers, while studying as a Keeper, that used the symbol from his medallion as a unifying feature. This was the origin of the Glare. They strove to bridge the Schism, with potentially more force than others would deem appropriate. After Emerald’s disappearance from the Lighthouse, graffiti began to cover Tiesa all dealing with The Glare. The symbol used currently closely resembles the early graffiti.

Protests were launched with the most successful bringing the guarded light from the Lighthouse and spreading it amongst the people. The Glare remains an enigma. A fearless leader. A protector of dignity. A pirate. A traitor or a rebel. Roadblocks of light and flashes have been used by The Glare to further the cause, even when the results are a little morally questionable. That is The Glare.

End of Legend.