A Time Without Heroes

My grandmother used to talk of times of heroes, who slayed monsters, and freed the people from tyranny. They were stories that filled me with hope even when the world seemed so bleak. Heroes had been dead for decades now, the great houses had all fallen to ruin. and people cower in their homes. Beasts use our town as hunting grounds, they come and go as they please, leaving disease in their wake. Nothing harms them, nothing except the sword of the hero, wielded by the hero. But the last hero died over 50 years ago, and there's been no sign of a new one arising. It should have been me. I am technically from the bloodline that the heroes usually were chosen from; I am from the branch family, as I am descended from my grandparent's daughter. But it was none of my cousins; so there was hope that when I turned 20, it would be me. But it wasn't. Another generation, hero less.

I ended up working in the medical district with my grandmother, both my parents had died because of the beasts; as most kids are orphaned nowadays. My father tried to play hero and was torn to pieces on our front step. He didn't even get his sword drawn. My mother would soon follow due to the plague brought in by the beasts. That's when my grandmother began teaching me, first she taught me how to tend to my mother without becoming infected myself. At the beginning I didn't understand why she would teach a 13 year old kid how to clean and debride the pustules of their parent, but now I understand. I got time with my mother I don't think I would have gotten otherwise. I see so many children whose parents are sick, and they hide away like they've already become orphans. But this illness doesn't take the mind that quickly. It ravages the body, but the person is still in there, suffering. My mother and I had so many conversations that I—I am sorry, that's not what this is about.

My grandmother spent years teaching me what she called "the smallest way to fight back", which was keeping people alive. Maybe we couldn't slay beasts, but we could resist them. She taught me how to clean and close huge gashes made by bear beast claws, how to properly clean out the puncture wounds filled with bug beast venom, and how to comfort people after seeing all that happen to their loved ones. She had been nursing the wounded and saving lives since she was 15, her parents didn't want their only daughter on the front lines, so she did what she could to support everyone else. When her parents wanted her to marry a strong knight in training, she married him. And when they wanted her to raise a hero; she bore 6 children. And when her husband died protecting the town, and when she couldn't save him she took care of those 6 children alone. And when those children had children she took care of them too.

The early warning system was developed in part thanks to her; when her husband was away she would take walks around the perimeter of town waiting for him to return. During these walks, she noticed you could smell the beasts on the air and through a series of workshops she was able to teach this to the town guards. From then on guards would ring the alarm bells the second they began to smell the stench of an oncoming wave, allowing so many more people to get into their cellars; which did not fully protect them but it made it harder for the beasts to reach large quantities of people before they gave up and went looking for easier prey.

I know she wanted different for her life, I know she wished she could have been on the battlefield keeping beasts a little more at bay. She had the bravery for it. However, her parents needed her, so she stayed. And she raised a bunch of strong children, unfortunately the last standing, me, was probably the weakest. I was sickly as a child, and now I am a coward as an adult. I was never much for fighting, even with other children on the playground. I much preferred to hide away and read of times better than these. But she helped me fight back in the smallest way.

There was a week of incessant attacks, bug beast, after snake beast, after lion beast. The small reprieve we got was often that the beasts had different awakening schedules and therefore different eating schedules. So after an attack we'd have at least sometime to recoup. However, one day there was heavy rainfall that must have shifted these timings, and that's when I found my place in the world.

We had just finished patching up the victims of a bug beast swarm when the town alert bells started again. Fear ran through my heart, at this point we were already understaffed, and with everyone else mostly underground we were one of the first to be on the chopping block for whatever beast pack decided to come through town. But we weren't the first thing they'd run into. They would run into the lost children who gather around the hero's statue after the all clear bell sounds. I could tell grandmother had the same thought.

"Sirus, get the wounded into the cellar. I'm going to help."

"Bu-" I tried to give any rebuttal but the look she shot me; I knew nothing I could say would stop her. She was always like that. I guess when you have so many siblings, and then children, and grandchildren you have to know who you are.

I couldn't let her die alone. I may not have been chosen as the hero, but I wouldn't go out a coward. I left the cellar and made sure to disguise the hatch as much as I could. I ran as fast as I could and I got there just as grandma hobbled into the town square, her frail frame was eclipsed by the pieces of the hero's statue that was still standing. She was walking right into a bird beast that was descending upon a child that had gotten separated from the fleeing crowd. I could see eyes hiding in their homes, none of them would even reach a hand or open a door to save this kid. My grandmother would. But her feet had trouble navigating through the mud that was left from the recent rains; I had to help her.

"Grandmother! Stop!" I pleaded as I tried to reach her, but before I could she stumbled. Boots caught in the muck.

I watched in horror; she was going to fall and be the second meal after the bird beast consumed the children. It was too much. I was going to lose the last person I had. I squeezed my eyes shut, I wasn't going to watch any more tragedy; I was just going to wait and be consumed too. But I didn't hear her hit the ground.

She caught herself — Her hand landed on the hilt of the sword of the hero. The sword no one had used in 5 decades. My breath was caught in my throat; I expected the sword to crumble, and continue her fall. But it didn't. It glowed. And she glowed. Then it all became clear to me. This is where she was always meant to be. The hero was never going to be me, because it had always been her.

We're saved.

I watched slack-jawed as she rose up and cut through the beasts with ease; dashing through them, and sweeping up the children in her arms. She set them gently next to me, and started the work. The power coursed through her, it combined with her innate will to protect everyone and it guided her through the oncoming flock of bird beasts. One by one they fell. She did it. All tension left my body. I collapsed to the ground and my knees sunk into the mud; I didn't have to be brave anymore. Tears forced their way out of my eyes, the pressure and force of the tears hurt. I could feel the energy leave my vocal chords. I was in the mud screaming and crying like a child. And when she was done saving the world she came for me. And held me like the little baby grandson I was to her. She was my grandmother but to everyone else she will forever be this generation's hero.

Elora Crestwing. Age 72. Savior.

Afterwards she continued to protect our village and I did what I could to make sure she came home to something nice. She kept me warm and safe in much harder times, so I did what I could to repay the favor. I grew all the fruits she loved in the garden, when they ripened she'd come home and enjoy them with me and the people of the neighborhood. After a while, I started writing my own stories, just funny little things to distract her from her busy days. Unlike me, she didn't need to dream of a better world. She was creating it bit by bit. What she did need though was silly little comedies made by her grandson. The towns folk started to really like my weekly releases as well. Things went on like that for many years, but 110 years was all she could spare.

Now I am a grandfather, and I tell my grand kids of a time when there were no heroes and the great houses were in ruin. But they don't really understand. They've never heard the warning bells or know what a beast looks like, beyond the drawings in their books; they grew up in safety thanks to her and the heroes who came after. Even now she watches over them as they play under her statue in the square, blissfully ignorant of what it took to earn that statue. I try to teach them the things she taught me, even though the beasts are at bay, life isn’t perfect; we haven’t fixed the human body or the human condition. And part of me fears something might hide the next hero or the hero after that. Grandmother was so strong, and even she was hidden for much of her life. So, I bring the children along when I bring the long-term residents of the sickward my weekly silly adventure story. Children no longer have to watch their parent fade away to the sickness the beasts brought, but there are still people who need a little company and a little escape. I was never the chosen one, and much too cowardly to ever pretend to be the hero but I’d like to think I’ve found my own smallest way to fight back. And I hope they’ll be able to find theirs too.