I must do what I can
"Dirk, please, stop!" Sholto pleaded desperately at his brother. His stomach lurched as he watched Dirk pull himself to his feet on the roof of the house. "You will fall! Please be careful!"
"What was that, brother? I cannot hear you," Dirk called out in a teasing tone. A mischievous smile spread across his face. "Maybe if I move closer..."
Sholto gasped in horror as Dirk, being the daring eleven year old he was, inched further forward, his toes almost curling over the edge of the roof. "Dirk, this is madness!" he shouted in a serious tone, his voice wobbling anxiously. Beside him, his little brother Rye laugher hysterically. Clearly he did not understand the danger of the situation. Sholto shot him an angry glare before returning his attention to Dirk, who was now placing one foot in front of the other, pacing along the roof's edge. Each time he lifted a foot, he teetered in an exaggerated manner, pretending to lose his balance. Sholto screwed his eyes shut and prepared for the sickening thud of his brother hitting the ground at any moment.
"Dirk! What do you think you are doing?!" Sholto opened his eyes to see their mother, Lisbeth, storming into yard, her brow creased in anger. "Come down, Dirk. Now!" she shouted furiously.
Obediently, Dirk climbed down from the roof. When he reached the ground safely at last, Sholto sighed with relief, and Dirk chuckled in amusement.
"I fail to see how this is funny, Dirk," Lisbeth scolded. "What would the Warden say if he saw you playing such dangerous games? And do not think you are better than Sholto because you can climb without fear, either! Sholto is good at other things."
"I know he is," Dirk said with a groan. He turned to look at Sholto. "You will have to learn to like climbing sometime though," he told him seriously. "How else will you be able to become a Wall worker?"
The very thought of being a Wall worker filled Sholto with a dreadful panic and made his stomach churn. He had watched the Wall workers as they crawled over the Wall, like bees climbing over frames in a beehive, and scaled to great heights, putting their full trust in the bright yellow safety harnesses they wore. It was the job many aspired to have. It was certainly the job Dirk aspired to have, but Sholto was not like Dirk, or their father. He had no desire to work on the Wall.
"Maybe Sholto does not want to be a Wall worker when he grows up," he heard their mother tell Dirk, though she glanced over at Sholto briefly, and he could see in her kind eyes that she understood. "There are many jobs in Weld that are just as important. I am sure Sholto will find one that suits him just fine."
...
"So you are really going to do it. You are going to go beyond the Wall," Sholto said, as a statement, not a question, for he knew there was no doubt Dirk would wholeheartedly accept the Warden's quest to find and destroy the source of the skimmers.
Dirk nodded and moved to sit across from him on the edge of his own bed. "This could be my chance to really do good, to change things for the better." He paused solemnly for a moment. Sholto knew what he was thinking.
"Father would have been proud of you," he told him quietly.
Dirk smiled. "He would have been proud of you too." When he shook his head in disagreement, Dirk reached over and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Sholto, you help heal sick and injured people, and your skimmer repellant has saved countless lives."
Sholto lowered his eyes to floor and shook his head again. "I am no hero, Dirk, and I do not wish to be," he assured him.
"By the wall, Sholto!" Dirk exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mild exasperation. "Did you not listen to what I just said? You help people. That makes you a hero in my books, whether you agree with it or not."
"I simply do what needs to be done," Sholto replied modestly. He rose from the bed and wandered over to the door. It was almost time to prepare the house for another night of skimmer attacks.
"Sholto," Dirk called after him. "About today, Joliffe was only teasing. He knows your skimmer repellant is an excellent invention. I think, perhaps, he is a bit jealous."
Sholto let out a quiet snort of laughter. He very much doubted Joliffe was jealous of him. Jealous of Dirk's unwavering loyalty to him, perhaps, but not of his ideas, his inventions, or his job as an apprentice healer. Dirk was certainly not jealous of him either, but he had come to appreciate the work he did. As daring child, Dirk had often found him to be a boring companion, but in time, they had grown to accept the differences in each other's gifts and talents.
He looked at his brother, once a mischievous young schoolboy who found delight in climbing onto the roof of the house, now a grown man off to face the unimaginable dangers beyond the Wall. "Be careful," he told him with a smile, though he meant the words seriously, just as he always had.
Dirk sauntered over to him and tousled his hair playfully. "Do not fear, brother," he said confidently. "I will be home before you know it."
...
One warm evening, Sholto returned home to find his mother sitting in her chair by the fireplace, her empty gaze resting at the cold ashes in the grate. In her hands she held a gold flower-like brooch and a small scroll. Deep down, he knew the scroll contained news of Dirk, and his heart sunk. He gently freed the scroll from his mother's fingers and unrolled it. As he glanced over the words, fiery anger rose within him. Examining the handwriting on the scroll, it was obvious that the majority of it was penned by someone else on the Warden's behalf, with only the words Lisbeth of Southwall and Dirk written by the Warden himself, along with his signature at the bottom, which felt to Sholto like a mocking insult. The scroll spoke of great regret and sorrow, but the Warden felt no such emotions. More than anything, Sholto wished to tear it to shreds and toss the pieces into the fireplace.
"Our precious Warden must have sent out many of these today," he muttered. He tried to dampen his burning anger enough to speak calmly, but his words were biting and infused with his quiet rage. "So many, indeed, that it would have taken too long for him to write each note individually. Most of the message was written for him. He has simply filled in the spaces and signed at the bottom!"
Abruptly, Lisbeth snatched the scroll out of his hands. Sholto's heart ached when he saw the pain and sorrow in her eyes. "Dirk was a hero," she said shakily, as she fastened the golden brooch to the bodice of her plain brown dress. She took a deep breath and looked back at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He died like his father, doing what he thought was right. If you wish to sneer, Sholto, please sneer where I cannot hear you!"
Sholto turned away. Guilt mingled with anger, grief and pain inside of him. The mixture should have caused a volatile reaction, an explosion of furious shouts and heart-wrenching sobs. Instead, he said nothing. He showed nothing, and slowly, he began to feel nothing. He pushed his feelings so deep inside of him, locking them out of his heart and mind, so they were temporarily unreachable. He could not allow them to get in the way. He began walking to the back of the house where he kept his supplies of skimmer repellant. Skimmers would not care that his family grieved; their attacks would not cease. They would still take every opportunity to feast on the prey inside their giant feeding bowl.
"We had better begin locking up," he called over his shoulder to Rye in a low voice. "I will fetch the rags."
That night, he did not sleep. He lay silently in his bed, staring blankly into the dark room, which felt hotter and more stifling than ever. Thoughts of Dirk entered his mind, forcing the feelings he had buried to begin slowly creeping back out.
How could the Warden say for the certain that Dirk and the other lost volunteers were dead? Though he did like to admit it, he knew it was likely. Likely, but not certain. Other than the fact Dirk had not returned, their was no evidence to support his death. Despite this, however, he refused to cling foolishly to hope, for fear of being greatly disappointed.
Suddenly, the air became filled with dreadful crashes, desperate cries, terrified screams, and the muffled beating of skimmers' wings. The horrifying sounds seemed to be coming from very close by. He heard Rye gasp and sit up. "Be still, Rye!" he hissed at him. "They are not attacking us... but it is somewhere very near."
Much to his horror, he had been right. In the morning, Sholto and Rye went out and discovered that the family of Dirk's friend, Joliffe, were all dead. Neighbours with pale, shocked faces lingered around the home.
"Such an awful tragedy," one grey-haired woman remarked solemnly. "They had just received the news of their son's death beyond the Wall. They were such a lovely family. Oh, it is too painful to bear."
Sholto caught sight of Rye out the corner of his eye, staring at him silently in admiration and gratitude. He knew what Rye was thinking. He knew he was fighting the urge to praise him for pushing aside his grief to properly seal their home last night and thank him for saving their lives. Sholto did not feel that his actions were worthy of praise and thanks; he had only done what needed to be done. Staring at the crumbling, devastating remains of Joliffe's family's home, he felt his buried feelings erupt, sending a fiery rage flooding through him. He clenched his fists hard, digging his nails into his palms. This has gone on for too long, he thought. It cannot continue any longer. He felt a strange urging, an invisible force, an echoing noise shouting at him that he needed do something. He needed find where the skimmers were coming from. He needed stop them from coming. It was not fair that his father was dead, that Dirk was dead, that Joliffe's family was dead. Something needed to be done.
"This must stop," he muttered quietly to himself as he and Rye turned for home. "There must be a way."
...
The next day, Sholto stood at a table in Tallus the healer's workroom, carefully mixing potions. He focused his attention completely on the task at hand, ensuring he used the right ingredients, measured out the quantities accurately, labelled the jars and bottles correctly, and did not allow the pots brewing on the stove to bubble over. When the task was complete, he carefully stocked the shelves with the newly filled jars and bottles. While he was doing so, Tallus entered the room.
"Are the potions all prepared?" he asked gruffly, scanning the shelves.
"Yes, I prepared everything on the list you gave me," Sholto replied, placing the last jar on the shelf. "I also made a few adjustments to water trap."
Tallus nodded. "Yes, the water trap," he said. "A clever piece of work, that is. Catches excellent specimens." He paused for a moment, watching as Sholto cleaned up his work area. "You are very knowledgable about skimmers."
Sholto shrugged. "Like you, I want to find about more about them, where they come from, why they come."
"Indeed," Tallus murmured, running his hand through the mass of white hair on his head. "You want to stop the skimmer invasions."
Sholto stopped. It was as if Tallus already knew what he had planned to ask, like the old healer could read his very thoughts. "I do," Sholto admitted, "but I am no hero like those men who went beyond the Wall. I am not sure I would accomplish..."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Tallus. The short man reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders. "A lot goes on inside that head of yours, boy! A lot of ideas. Why, yes, those ideas are useful here, but they could also be useful out there."
"Do you really think so?" Sholto asked, seeing seriousness in the old healer's eyes.
"Think so? I know so!" Tallus assured him. "There are so many questions we seek answers for. I am an old man, and surely would not do a pinch of good out there in the wilds, but you? Why, you are young and agile, and very clever. If you wish to go beyond the Wall, you have my full support. I will manage in your absence, and when you return, we will finally have the answers we have longed for."
Sholto returned home that night, confident in his decision. That evening, while his mother busily prepared dinner and Rye assisted her obligingly, he sat alone with a blank page torn from his notebook sitting in front. He hesitated, thinking of his mother and brother, who he loved dearly. But I can offer them nothing here, he reminded himself. My pay barely covers the food I eat. Once the skimmer invasion is stopped, they will be safe. That is what I must do. That is what must be done.
He touched the pen to the page and began to write.
My dear mother,
I have gone to the Keep to volunteer for the Warden's quest. The notice is still on view, so I assume the offer is still open to all who are of age. As you will remember I turned eighteen two weeks ago.
I am no hero like my brother Dirk I feel, however, that I must do what I can to find the source of the skimmer invasions.
Author's Note: Sholto's letter and some bits of dialogue throughout the story are directly from The Three Doors books.