The Spirits That Walk Beside Us: Guardian angels, real or not?

 

Do We Have Guardian Angels?

It is a question I have often returned to: if guardian angels truly existed, what would they be? A comforting presence? A warning voice in the dark? Or something older, stranger, and far less sentimental? That idea found its way into my books, first as a quiet hint in Legacy of the Eldric, then as a deeper and more dangerous thread in Dragon Rider and Shadow of the Demon.

Across many cultures, people have imagined guardian spirits in one form or another. In some North American traditions, spirit guides or totems are often represented by animals, watching, warning, or lending strength. I borrowed something of that warmth: the human longing to believe that we are not entirely alone, that somewhere beyond sight, something knows us, remembers us, and may yet stand between us and the dark.

What Is a Guardian Spirit in My Books?

In my world, a guardian spirit—or shaol—is usually an ancestor bound in some mysterious way to the person it protects. The strength of that bond depends on blood, memory, and proximity. A distant ancestor, such as a great-great-uncle, may offer only the faintest instinct: a prickle at the back of the neck, a sense of danger, a sudden unease. But if the spirit is a mother, father, or someone loved deeply in life, the connection can be far stronger, and far harder to ignore.

This bond explains sensations such as déjà vu: that eerie feeling that a place or moment has been lived before. Perhaps it has. Perhaps the guardian spirit once walked that road, feared that room, or stood beneath that same sky. What feels like memory may not belong to us at all, but to the presence travelling silently beside us.

When the Bond Grows Stronger

When the link to a shaol strengthens, it becomes more than a feeling. A person may sense danger before it reveals itself, become aware of unseen enemies nearby, or react with a speed and certainty that seems impossible. To outsiders, it might look like instinct. To the person experiencing it, it can feel like another will pressing gently against their own.

For most people, that connection remains tenuous: a whisper, a warning, a half-felt presence. But two characters in my books are bound far more tightly to their shaol, and that stronger connection changes the course of their lives. It grants them gifts, but it also burdens them with memories, loyalties, and dangers that are not entirely their own.

Of course, such a gift can be twisted. In my world, the Priests of Ryoch exploit guardian spirits for cruel and calculated ends. They seek out children whose shaol are dark, violent, or corrupted, then train them as weapons. The most powerful among them can do more than fight; they can communicate across a battlefield, passing warnings, commands, and fear through bonds no enemy can see. In war, that kind of unseen connection becomes terrifyingly useful.

Then there is the more terrible possibility: a guardian spirit from another world. Imagine the shade of a dead emperor, a being who once ravaged his own lands and commanded dragons as instruments of ruin. Now imagine that presence bound to your mind, whispering in the dark, lending strength perhaps, but also bringing madness, guilt, and memories no mortal was meant to bear. Would that protect you—or slowly unmake you?

That, to me, is the beauty of high fantasy: not simply inventing wonders, but setting rules around them—rules that offer hope, exact a price, and force characters to live or die by the unseen powers they dare to trust.

https://davidburrows.org.uk/