A New Keeper

by J C Gilbert

  “OK, sure.”

  “There are five refugees trapped down that hole. Brunhilda here was able to get out. I found her wandering in the fields. She is small and could crawl through, but the rest of them down there are trapped.”

  “How did they get down there? Were they tunneling?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Well, you know how I said that they were refugees? Well, I may have given you a bit of a false impression. The thing is they are not just from another country, they are from the twelfth century.”

  “The past?”

  “They are not the only ones either. People have been popping up all over the place. Their village was remote in the north of England, but when the Normans invaded it was inevitable that they would be discovered. When they were found they could expect to be destroyed, man, woman, and child. In their desperation, they turned to a wizard from the south. He offered them sanctuary, a way out of the foothills and to safety. They had no place else to go. He created some sort of wormhole, and they all walked in. The wormhole must have been unstable because something went very wrong.”

  “Time travel?”

  “Yeah. For us, this happened more than 800 years ago, but for Brunhilda, it all happened last week.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “And your magical library isn’t?”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Families of refugees have been turning up all over the place. It's been hard to talk to them as they speak an ancient dialect of English. These days we call it Old English and only university professors and Tolkien enthusiasts ever learn any. I fall into the latter category. Most of them don't want to be found and are just trying to get by without being deported. The ones I did speak to helped me to understand what happened. Unfortunately, I still had no way of getting Brunhilda’s family out.”

  I looked at the little girl. It broke my heart to see her standing guard over her family like this. Her expression did not change as we spoke.

  “I did my best to get food and water to Brunhilda so that she could carry it down, but it wasn't until yesterday that I found a way to get them out.”

  “My library.”

  “Bingo. When you disappeared, I figured there was something different about you.”

  “Most people wouldn't have immediately thought of magic to explain a disappearing girl.”

  “Most people haven't see what I have seen,” he smiled.

  “So what do I need to do?”

  “I need you to crawl down the tunnel, find Brunhilda’s family, transport them into your library, climb back out and reverse the process. Can you do that?”

  I froze. Hank squeezed all the air out of my lungs and then punched them.

  “You will be OK,” said Darcy, his tone steady.

  “Sure,” I squeaked.

  Darcy said a few lines to Brunhilda in Old English. She looked puzzled but nodded and led the way to the tunnel. It smelled of clay and dampness. I crawled in after Brunhilda, holding my phone up to light the way. Soon I was covered in mud.

  The recent rains must have flowed down here like a river. I imagined what it must have been like for the people trapped in a dark hole in the ground, a roaring storm in the world up above, water gathering at their feet.

  The tunnel went much deeper than I expected. Brunhilda crawled fast, stopping now and then to make sure that I wasn't too far behind. She had a determination about her which I had never seen in a child before. She formed an interesting contrast with Jonny who was probably only a little younger than she was.

  At length, we reached the end of the tunnel. I crawled out the end and then swung onto my feet. I cast my light over the cave. It was quite spacious, but more than half the space was taken up by a pool of muddy water. Figures were leaning up against the edges of the cave. They started to stir as they saw my light.

  Brunhilda shouted something in her guttural dialect. A couple of the people stood up. She ran up to one that wasn't moving and kicked him hard. He groaned as she tugged on his arm until he was on his feet.

  I just stood there watching, silent, not knowing exactly how this was going to pan out. Even while I was saving peoples lives I still worried about what they thought of me.

  Soon Brunhilda had gathered her family into one spot. She then turned and looked at me expectantly. Nervous, I walked toward them and motioned for them to touch my shoulders. It felt awkward having the hands of strangers touching my arms and shoulders like that. One taller person had their hand on my head. I fumbled with the phone and the book, trying to get light on the page. As soon as I got the angle right, I started to read.

  The travel to The Library was more intense than ever. This time among the swirling pages half a dozen people were tumbling around me as well. I had just enough time to find the experience terrifying before we landed on the burgundy tiles of The Library.

  My eyes were assaulted by the bright light of The Library’s Heart. I looked about and saw the bodies of my companions sprawled around me. Brunhilda was straight to her feet. Now I could see just how bad a state these people were in.

  I knelt down. “Make sure they don't wander,” I said carefully. Brunhilda stared at me blankly.

  “Ic þæt ne undergiete,” she said.

  “No wandering,” I tried, speaking slowly. Brunhilda squinted, nodded, and then looked back at the refugees, like a shepherd guarding her flock.

  It didn't look like any of them were in a state to wreak havoc in The Library, so I turned to my book and returned to the cave. It was a longer journey back up than it was going down.

  The dim light of the tunnel’s mouth swayed before me. My arms were heavy with the effort of crawling. I was covered in mud, damp, and miserable. But that was OK because these people would be safe. I rested in the darkness for a moment, everything aching. Closing my eyes, I hardened my resolve and pulled myself onward.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Everything go OK?” Darcy asked urgently.

  The open air was cool and fresh, and the night sky was filled with stars.

  I nodded and then opened my book to read.

  When I got back to The Library, I found the refugees in the same formation as we had made when we left the cave. Brunhilda stood in front of them like a drill sergeant. It was almost unfair how much command she had over herself for so small a person.

  We repeated the process, and soon five medieval refugees were out in the open air, dazed, but smiling. One rather tall women gave me a bear hug. Her woolen tunic stunk, but as far as hugs go, it wasn't so bad.

  Once released, I watched as Darcy unwrapped the cloth which bound his sword. He handed the sword to Brunhilda. Brunhilda shook her head and pressed the sword back to him. He nodded gravely, wrapped up the sword, and hid it away in his pack.

  “Where will they go?” I asked Darcy as we watched the refugees celebrate their freedom.

  “They will probably live in the hills for a while. The world is a wilder place than people realize. There are lots of places where you can lie low if you need to.”

  Brunhilda, face as stony as ever, walked toward me, her eyes fixed on me. She stood there for a moment and then ran forward, wrapped her arms around my waist, and held me there in a feeling embrace. My heart swelled for her and tears formed in my eyes.

  The journey home was filled with a silence of a different kind. I was still wet and covered in mud when I got home. This time I had remembered to text Mom to say I was going to be out but had no idea how I would explain the mud. At this rate, she would probably think I had secretly taken up a sport.

  I shuddered at the thought.

  Sleep took me quickly that night, and I slumbered deeply. When I awoke, there were a few moments when I felt completely at peace. It was a strange feeling.

  Then I remembered about the date with Lilly and the boys tomorrow night. Hank took up a mallet and started thumping on my heart which boomed like a bass drum. Ah, the old famil
iar beat.

  It is all well and good saying that you are happy to go hang out with a pair of human males for an evening, but it is an entirely different thing actually going and actually talking to them.

  All through Wednesday, I kept thinking about how it would go, imagining all the awkward things I would say, worried about the boy's expectations, afraid that I wouldn't look like I was having fun, terrified of letting Lilly down. I did my best to try and avoid letting Lilly know how I was feeling, but I think she kind of guessed.

  I wouldn't say that I over think things generally. Most things I sort of block out or try to escape rather than over think. Wednesday night I was definitely over thinking.

  Outfits are not exactly my thing. I had your standard assortment of jeans, long skirts, and embarrassingly revealing dresses that people who thought I should come out of my shell (Mom) always got me for Christmas, but I had no idea how you were supposed to arrange them into some sort of coherent look. No matter what I did, I seemed always to wind up looking quirky. That's not to say that I don’t like quirky, but do other people like quirky? Is quirky OK?

  I like the way the word quirky sounds to say.

  Quirky, quirky, quirky. Anyway.

  After about an hour of pulling things on and yanking things off and generally turning my room into a home for lost garments, I gave up. I would just wear what I was going to wear to school anyway. It was the perfect solution: I would be comfortable, I could quit thinking about it, and I couldn't be accused of dressing up. I didn't want them to think I liked them, or that I didn't like them, I just wanted to get through.

  I could just say I didn't have time to change between school and the market. Lying makes everything better.

  I settled on a baggy maroon sweater and standard run of the mill black skinny jeans (no rips because reasons). Now I just had to decide on a bag. Was that a thing that mattered? I didn't know, but I didn't want to mess this up. I was going to be there for Lilly if it killed me, and judging by Hank’s muted threats and occasional stabbing, death was definitely on the cards.

  I grabbed the bag I usually carried Alice in and held it up to myself in the mirror. It was then that I noticed that it was stuffed with flowers.

  Frowning, I opened the bag up in full. Then I remembered. These were the flowers that I had picked with Elaine by the river bank. These were the flowers that she used to make tea…

  Excitement seized me. I waited until the family were asleep and crept downstairs. The stairs creaked beneath my feet. Somewhere in the living room, some appliance was humming softly.

  I set the kettle to boil and found my favorite mug. It had the face of young adult author John Green on it with the caption PIZZA. It's a long story.

  Carefully I selected leaves and petals from the flowers and dumped them in the mug.

  “Hi Alex,” said a voice, I turned quickly, eyes wide.

  It was Dad.

  He rummaged in the fridge. “A little late for a cuppa,” he said.

  I moved in front of my mug, trying to block his view. The last thing I needed was for him to see that I was putting random flowers in a mug. He would probably think it was drugs.

  Was it drugs? I didn't think so. Even so, I didn't want to process the questions. “Sometimes you just need tea,” I said.

  “You sure do,” he said, shutting the fridge and moving to the pantry, “and sometimes you just need crackers.”

  He rummaged around for a while longer, giving his snack selection what I thought was an unreasonable amount of thought.

  The kettle clicked off the boil, but Dad was still rummaging. I didn't want to pour the tea while he was still there or he might see what was in the mug. Then again, standing there and doing nothing was equally suspicious. I leaned over to the kettle and switched it back to boil. It immediately switched off again.

  Shoot.

  “Right, night-night,” said Dad, balancing a collection of crackers, cherry tomatoes, and hummus on one arm as he shut the pantry door with the other. Slowly, carefully, he left the kitchen.

  All was silent. I grabbed the kettle and poured the steaming hot water into the mug. That same fragrant smell of licorice and cherries filled my experience.

  I searched one of the kitchen cupboards for matches and a candle and then walked carefully up the stairs and into my room.

  My heart was spinning with excitement as I shoved aside the clothes I had been agonizing over only a short time before.

  Once I had space clear, I lit the candle and set it gently down on the carpet. It tipped a little, uneven on the uneven surface.

  I sat with my legs crossed and brought the mug to my lips. I blew gently, sending steam swirling away in the candlelight. I took a sip. The tea seared my lips slightly. By the candlelight, I could see the dark shapes of the petals bobbing around.

  The tea seemed to take an eternity to cool. When at last I thought it was cool enough I took a few choice sips. It was still too hot really, but I couldn't wait any longer.

  Setting the tea aside, I turned my attention to the candle. That's when I noticed something strange turn up in my mind. There was some resistance to trying the magic out, like if I tried and it failed then I would have lost something from this world.

  I took a breath and pictured a rose.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Nothing happened. The candle flickered and waved, but remained the same little light in the middle of a messy room.

  I sighed with frustration and was about to give up when I noticed something. Tiny, almost imperceptible, a flower seemed to be forming in the flame. I blinked in disbelief, but it was still there. I smiled, focused on it, and willed it to grow.

  Within a few seconds, the rose was blooming before me. It worked. It actually worked!

  I did not dare to make it too large. I didn't want to start a fire. I marveled at this thing which I had brought into being by the force of my own imagination.

  I marveled at the magic.

  There was a thud. I jumped, startled. Quickly, I blew out the candle and listened.

  I sat in the darkness for a time. I considered lighting the candle again but didn't want to risk someone walking in.

  This was my secret.

  My stomach was all in knots the whole of Thursday. My mind spun from thoughts of the flaming rose to thoughts of embarrassing myself at the market. Never before had I experienced such a mix of excitement and dread.

  And dread it was, but something was different about this dread. I knew within myself that I had totally and completely resigned myself to going to the market that night. Such a feeling of resolve was a new experience for me, and I might have called it a good feeling too if I wasn't so uncomfortable.

  Several times throughout the day I caught Lilly looking at me wearily like I might betray some sign that I would leave her in the lurch again. It sucked, but there was nothing I could do. I just had to show up and prove myself.

  The market took place in a car park underneath the mall near Lilly’s house. When I got there the roar of thousands of people bustling about the stalls filled the space. Food smells wafted through the air, some of them good, some of them not so good.

  My whole nervous system was in revolt now. I wasn't running away like it said I should. At last, I was doing what was important. Hank was sulking.

  I found a concrete pillar to lean against while I waited for Lilly.

  It felt like everyone was looking at me. I tried to find a position against the pillar which didn't look too awkward. There wasn’t one.

  After what seemed like forever Lilly arrived, alone.

  “You made it!” she said, smiling and going in for the hug.

  “I said I would,” I said, grinning stupidly at her, “where are the boys?”

  “They aren't coming,” she said.

  “How come?” I asked, trying not to sound too relieved.

  “I guess it's not about them. You love markets, and I didn't want to spoil it. I would much rather spend the evening with my b
est friend.”

  “You didn't think I would come, did you?” I said in mock accusation.

  “Now, why ever would you go and say a thing like that?” she reeled off in a false southern drawl.

  I could not have been happier. All I had hoped for was to get through the evening without being too much of a goof, but now I was ready to genuinely have a good time.

  The market seemed filled with candles and flame. More than once I wanted to see if I could make something, something small, while Lilly wasn't looking. It was a delightful secret to have.

  We bought two giant churros filled with warm dark chocolate and ate them as we wandered around. Neither of us were that keen on market food, but both had an extra stomach designated for churros.

  We occupied ourselves rummaging through the stranger looking stalls. As ever, I spent a good deal of time looking at crystal and gem pendants without actually buying one. It was a well-established ritual. The simple ones bound up in netted string were the best, but I could never decide on one which was exactly right.

  Laid out on several tables and shelves were crystals and fossils, old mugs and antiques, dried flowers and incense. An older man sat at some distance behind the table. His distance meant that I was free to browse without feeling watched.

  One of the mugs, in particular, caught my eye. It was clay and crooked and utterly delightful. The mug looked like a far more appropriate vessel for brewing magical tea than my dearest Pizza-John. I picked it up and examined it closely while Lilly busied herself looking and a trilobite fossil.

  “What have you been drinking?” asked the old man quite suddenly.

  I looked up, surprised, and almost dropped the mug. The stall keeper was no longer sitting back from the display. His face was only inches from my own. His gaze was steady like he was looking for some kind of truth in my eyes.

  If he found it, then I would never know, because just then Lilly grabbed my arm and pulled me over to another stall where they sold anime figurines. I looked back over my shoulder, but the man was gone.

  It was still relatively early when we finished at the market. We didn't get much of a haul really. I lamented not purchasing the mug, but that guy had really creeped me out. I did, however, buy a tall lavender scented candle.