Meeting with Myron

Meeting with Myron

As lord of the castle, one might expect I had more important matters to occupy my time and energies. But Myron is an old friend and has served my family and fiefdom for longer than anyone can recall. So here I am aside the moat, waiting unattended for him to tell me what is wrong this time.

“Oh, I am so sorry to trouble you, Charlie,” Myron addresses me as he has since I was a mere lad sharing an afternoon of fishing and swimming with him. “You are so kind to come down. I would come to see you, but I cannot fit through any of the gates.”

“Think naught of it, old friend. As steadfast and loyal of a protector as you have been all these years deserves my respect and attention.” I do not mention that his recent thrashing in the moat can be felt throughout the castle walls and floors and that nobody has slept well for two days with his nocturnal sobbing and moaning.

“Old! So you think so too!” wails Myron. “Yes, at last, the end draws near for me, Charlie.” He slumps down into the water until only his tear-filled eyes show above the surface.

“No, it is merely our friendship that is old. Myron, you are as ageless as the stones of the castle walls. You have lived in our moat while many generations of my family have come and gone and will do so for countless more.”

“Look, Charlie,” he says as he rears out of the water and turns to show me his side. “See that bare spot there. And here. And over there. I am falling apart.”

“Could you simply be molting? Maybe it is time for your next growth spurt,” I suggest cheerfully.

“Do you really think so, Charlie,” he brightens momentarily, but quickly sinks into the water again. “No, no, my molting days are ancient history – this is rot! Decay! The Slide to the End!”

“When did this skin change start, Myron? It seems early to be reaching such dire conclusions if we just need to cycle this stagnant water out with a nice fresh flow from the stream. I cannot remember when we did the last moat overhaul but we are probably overdue.”

“Fresh water would be nice,” Myron concedes. “Could we add some shady shrubs along the edge of the southside too?”

“Yes, certainly. I will have the chamberlain get the work started today.” Ah, problem solved, I think.

“It won't really do any good though,” Myron continues. “It'd be nice to be comfortable in my last days. Maybe we could carve a small grotto under the drawbridge where I could crawl in and finish out of the way. I don't want to be any trouble, Charlie.”

“You never have been any trouble, Myron.” I should have guessed that was too easy.

“That is not really my name, did you know?” he says quietly.

“What? Your name is not Myron? I have never heard anyone call you anything else. What is your real name?”

“Alas, even I do not know. Six hundred years ago at the next solstice I was bound by a wizard named Myron. He dealt in magical protections, Myron's Mystical Monitors. And I was a servant he sold to your ancestors. At first, they called me Myron's Moat Monster, then Myron's Monster, and finally, as the generations of castle dwellers passed, only Myron. So you might as well too.”

“Six hundred years?”

“Next solstice.”

“That is a long time. And you have never had a break in all that time. Is that what has you upset?”

“Oh, no, Charlie. At the next solstice my bewitchment will be over. I will no longer be the only thing I know how to be after all these centuries.”

“What will you do then?”

“I will do nothing. I will be nothing, Charlie. With my geas gone, I will have nothing.”

“But you will be free to do whatever you want, Myron. To go wherever you want. You could, of course, stay here if you wanted also.”

“No, the time for my retirement was set.” Myron sinks into the moat, sobbing.

What am I to do?  I did not make the rules that bind him and I have no power to change them.  Myron has made no preparation to be anything but what he is.  Many of us do not.  But what a misery to know with a date certain when such an end will come.