The Keeper Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by JA Andrews

“Turr of Loammore

  Beloved husband

  with a beloved smile,

  now joined with his children.

  The night continued and Sini stepped into people’s lives for brief moments as they shared with her about their families or their businesses or letters to distant kin. By the time the last people trickled out of the inn, she sank back exhausted.

  “That was well done,” Alaric said to her, gathering up remaining papers.

  The innkeeper—Sini had discovered his name was Yannek when she’d written out the words “Peat Bog Inn” for his sign—came over, clearing cups from their tables while his wife wiped off the tables with a dingy rag. “Which direction are ya headed tomorrow?”

  “The Lumen Greenwood,” Will answered.

  The innkeeper’s wife, an equally stout woman named Hattia, shot her husband an alarmed look.

  “Is there a problem?” Will asked.

  Hattia pressed her lips shut and focused on the table. Yannek tugged at his collar for a moment. “There’s been some…strangeness in the woods lately.”

  Sini paused from gathering up the quills Alaric had leant her.

  “What sort of strangeness?” Alaric asked.

  Ignoring the scolding look from his wife, the innkeeper cleared his throat. “I don’t go near the Greenwood. No reason to, of course. None of the trees are lookin’ for lodgin’, ya understand.” He gave a weak smile.

  Alaric’s expression held a shadow of impatience and Yannek looked more flustered.

  Feeling bad for him, Sini smiled and said, “Especially in an inn made of wood.”

  Yannek gave her a nervous laugh. “But folks that live out that way stop for a drink. They’ve all been avoiding the woods lately. No one has anything particular to complain about—”

  “Which is why ya shouldn’t be troublin’ these good folk with yer stories,” Hattia interrupted. “They’re not the kind to be bothered because Tenner’s bog-brained cousins think the trees chased them.”

  “Chased them?” Will asked.

  Yannek shot an irritated look at his wife. “That’s what they said. Lots of folks saying the forest is unfriendly these days. Most of the hunters won’t track game much past the edges. And folk from Lorrendale, on the south side of the bogs, won’t even do that.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Alaric asked.

  Yannek shrugged. “The whole last week.”

  “Has anything else happened?” Will asked.

  Yannek hesitated and Hattia gave him a barely perceptible head shake, accompanied by a threatening glare. Yannek waved her looks off. “In Lorrendale they say the forest took two of their children.”

  Hattia rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “The folks in Lorrendale are too stupid to pick their own children out of a crowd. No one can tell ya who these children are.” She turned to the Keepers. “Lorrendale is a small town. The folk there are a little…odd.”

  Sini bit back a smile and resisted glancing around at the tiny inn. “So you don’t think it’s true?”

  “A couple addlebrained hunters say they saw two kids run into the woods three days past. Even though they called to them, the little ‘uns never came back out. But they don’t know which kids, and no one’s missin’ any children. There aren’t no other towns down there for mysterious kids t’ come from.”

  “Grown men who’ve hunted in the woods their whole lives aren’t going in,” Yannek said stubbornly.

  “They’re Keepers, Yannek,” Hattia hissed, swatting at him with her rag. “They’re not scared of trees.”

  Yannek shook his head and turned back to the Keepers. “If ya are headed that way, ya should be careful.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the quiet of her very small, very sparse room, Sini set her finger next to the candle and paused. The garnet glowed with teeny bits of deep red light, only visible because her room was so dark. A shimmering, dim trail followed her hand wherever she moved it, glowing for just a breath before fading. The ring fit snugly on her first finger, and so far, that was the only finger she’d used to light anything. She curled up all her fingers but the smallest and set that near the candle. When she added a little vitalle, the copper glow from the ring slid smoothly across her fist, down her pinky finger and lit the candle.

  She grinned at the bright little beacon of fire, blew it out, then lit it with her thumb. After playing a few more minutes with the flame, she pulled out Chesavia’s journal and lay it on the table, flipping past doodles and runes, until she found a picture of the sun. Tongues of fire curled out from it, filling the entire page.

  A small figure at the bottom of the page lifted its arms, embraced by the eddies of light.

  Sini’s breath caught.

  The sunlight. Chesavia did understand the sunlight.

  On the facing page was written:

  Everything is light.

  There is vitalle in all living things, but sunlight is different. It is the source of all the vitalle. The source of everything. The light is the beginning.

  The Keepers understand this, but not in the way they should. They know that the sun gives life, but it is more than that.

  Everything is light. Everything that lives glows with it. Even the dark stone is a cooled, hardened version of it. I cannot put words to it, exactly. But light is the beginning of it, and the essence of it.

  On the moors the sunlight was so strong it pressed on me. When I let it in, it ran through my arms, through my body—through me. Every fiber of me, every fragment of what I am thrummed with it. It rushed through like a river of light. Warm and strong and vibrant.

  She paused at the words. Part of that was thrillingly familiar. The sunfire was warm and strong and vibrant, and she’d never found anyone else who understood that. But “every fragment of what I am thrummed with it”? Sini had never felt that. Sunfire was just like a stream of sunshine that could reach past her skin and warm her, deep inside.

  It was good. And pure.

  For one glorious moment I wanted to join it. To let myself transform into light. To be vast and alive and free.

  But there were things still to be done, and I knew I must stay.

  Here—in the darkness where my skin is just skin and my flesh merely mortal, trapped in one moment and one weakened form—my soul aches at my choice

  Sini shivered at the bleakness of the thought. Was this the Chesavia who everyone lauded for her bravery and sacrifice? Instead of a sacrifice, had it been merely self-destruction?

  She paused. Chesavia’s death was always described as being devoured by her own fire.

  That’s what Keepers said when someone used too much vitalle. When instead of merely burning their hands, they burned too much of themselves to survive. The energy devoured them.

  Sini let the book close on the table.

  Chesavia hadn’t been devoured by fire. She had let herself become the light.

  Their path the next morning headed south through low rolling hills, sometimes forested, sometimes grassy, and the thin dirt track meandered its way along them in no particular hurry. Pest ranged up ahead, leaving everyone else hemmed in by the Barons, Goven in the lead, Dalton behind them.

  Roan rode beside her in his normal grey, his dark hair as neat as it had been the first time she saw him at court. The top was pulled back into the same thin braids, and the rest hung past his shoulders, straight and orderly. There hadn’t been a mirror in Sini’s room, but she could imagine what the braid she’d retied hurriedly above her forehead this morning looked like. Not to mention the short ends of her hair that always splayed out with wild abandon.

  Roan studied Alaric and Will. “Every Keeper I’ve ever met has worn the black, and I have to admit, when they’re doing Keeper sorts of things like they did last night, it’s fitting.” He glanced at Sini’s red cloak. “But I’ve never seen you wear one. Is it because you’re young? Are you not an official Keeper yet?”

  The question pricked at her. “Yes I’m ‘official.�
��” Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be. “I’ve never needed to wear a robe before. The few times I’ve traveled since joining them, I was never doing anything particularly Keeperish. When I first came here from the Sweep, I traveled with Will, Alaric, and Evangeline to the Stronghold. Will and Alaric did a good amount of Keepering,”—Roan snorted at the word—“but I didn’t. I sat with Evangeline in the corner and tried to figure out what this new life of mine was going to look like.”

  “Weren’t you excited?” Roan asked. “Every child in Queensland dreams of being a Keeper.”

  “It had been a long time since I’d been in Queensland.” She spun her ring, remembering how odd it had been being back among trees, and her own people. She’d expected it to feel like a homecoming, but she’d only felt out of place.

  He considered her words for a moment. “I forgot you’d lived with Lukas for so long. When you lived on the Sweep, did you share his feelings about the Keepers?”

  “No.” It was one of the few topics they’d argued over until Sini stopped talking about Queensland or Keepers or anything else from home. “But it wasn’t just Lukas. Everyone on the Sweep hates the Keepers. As far as the Roven are concerned, they’re monsters who use unnatural magic. The stonesteeps there store all the power for their magic in gems. They think the fact that Keepers just draw it through their bodies is horrible.

  “I think I wanted to believe the Keepers were good, but I was scared that maybe the Roven were right.” They’d crested one of many hills. It was early enough that they were only in the sunlight while they crossed the top. The warmth of it sank into her cheek. In moments they were in the cool shadows again. “So when I had the chance to join them, I needed a little time.”

  “That was over four years ago,” Roan pointed out. “Do you still need time?”

  Sini watched the horizon ahead of them. As they dipped lower into the valley, more of the world disappeared until there was nothing but their thin little road, grassy slopes, and stands of clustered trees. “No. The Keepers are more than I ever could have imagined, even as a child. They’re wise and good and generous.”

  Roan let the obvious question hang in the air for a few moments. “Then why no robe?”

  Sini plucked at the edge of her red cloak. “Maybe this is what female Keepers wear. It’s been over a hundred years since the last one traveled outside the Stronghold.”

  Roan laughed, the first real laugh she’d heard from him. “Fair enough. You wear colors, I’ll wear grey. There’s no one alive to tell us that we’re wrong.”

  Sini grinned. “The Shield is old enough on both counts. So let’s not ask him.”

  The morning moved on uneventfully, the only real change being a brisk breeze out of the north that smelled like frost.

  Sini toyed with her ring again, putting vitalle into it until it glowed, then trying to draw that glow back into her hand to warm it. It didn’t work. It didn’t do anything at all. She shifted the ring slowly, letting the garnet glitter in the sunlight. There had to be some other way to use this beyond starting fires. If not, maybe she could make another one that would let her form the air into walls or bowls like the twins were good at. Or one that would let her use paxa to calm her horse, the way Rett could do so easily. She sighed. It would take a good number of rings to do all the things she’d like to. Her hands would look like some Roven Torch’s, with burning stones on every finger.

  At the top of one hill, Pest sat on his horse looking down into the next valley, waiting.

  Alaric frowned. “There shouldn’t be anything out here. The nearest town is hours south of us.”

  Sini felt the ripple as he cast out, and the immediate flare of vitalle from the people and horses around her. The trees had receded from the trail, but she caught an echo of their energy as well. Over the hill, dimmed by the distance, there was an enormous pool of vitalle.

  “What’s over there?” she asked Alaric.

  “Sheep,” Pest called to them. “A herd blocking the way.”

  In the next valley the trees drew close to the road, and a huge herd of sheep moved sluggishly through the narrowest part. A handful of shepherds milled along the far side.

  The herd was thinnest to the right near the trees, and Roan motioned Goven in that direction. They started slowly through, and soon the backs of the sheep spread out around the horses’ legs like foamy water, slowing their progress to a crawl. The valley was shadowed, and a cutting wind rushed past. Sini pulled her cloak around her wishing the stupid animals would move out of their way.

  Pest’s attention snapped to the nearby trees. “Down!” He flung himself out of the saddle.

  Before anyone else could react, a wet thunk sounded. Goven grunted in pain and slumped forward in his saddle, the tip of an arrow jutting from his back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Goven!” Dalton let out a roar and dove off his horse.

  Sini scrambled off hers, ducking between the sheep.

  Alaric cast out, and beyond the vitalle of the animals Sini caught the echo of a dozen people hiding past the tree line.

  Alaric dropped down next to her. Sini gripped her startled horse’s reins and peered through its legs at the shadowed trees. She heard Will shout to Talen, and the little hawk burst into flight and raced away.

  A knife flew into the trees from Pest’s direction. A cry rang out, and a body toppled into the open.

  Goven slid limply out of his saddle while his brother shoved through the herd toward the attackers. Arrows shot into the sheep around him. One knocked Dalton’s arm. He plunged on, ignoring it.

  “Sini!” Alaric grabbed her hand. “Vitalle! As much as you can give!”

  Energy from the ground began to flow through her feet as he drew it to himself. She looked up at what she could see of the sky between the horses and reached for the sunfire, pulling in the lazy bits that had fallen into the valley, stretching toward full daylight higher up.

  She funneled the little light she could grab into Alaric. He stretched one hand toward the sky, and a breeze ruffled her hair. Then a stronger wind shoved into her back. Sini finally reached the sunfire high above them and drew it down. It flowed into her in a stream of warmth, filling her, pouring through her hand into Alaric. It didn’t cause her any discomfort, but Alaric gasped. She shifted the energy away from his arm, funneling it into the path he’d created that reached back up into the sky. The wind blew harder, pushing Sini forward. Her horse shifted, dropping his head. His tail whipped forward and snapped against Sini’s neck. She hunched lower.

  There was a force in the air, shoving the wind forward. A blanket of energy, or a net. The wind drove into her, and she braced herself against the ground. Another net came from behind them, pushing the wind forward. An arrow tumbled away in the gust.

  “It’s too bad you can’t shoot the arrows back at them with the wind,” Sini shouted over the wind. Alaric gave her an exasperated look. “Sorry,” she said. “You’re doing great.”

  She caught a glimpse of Dalton charging into the tree line, his sword slicing through the shadows. Another one of Pest’s knives found its mark, and a body fell forward out of the trees. The shouts and commotion scattered the sheep, clearing a wide space between Sini and the trees.

  A man in a long brown robe peered out from behind a tree, watching the arrows go astray. He cried for the archers to stop, and men streamed out of the trees, knives, axes, and farm tools swinging.

  Alaric cast out again. The only man left in the trees was the brown-robed leader. The Keeper stood and shook out his hands, sparing a wide-eyed look at Sini. “It’s frightening how much vitalle you can move.” Striding toward the approaching men, he grabbed a skinny stick off the ground. Strands of fiery orange vitalle wound out from his hand and wrapped around the stick.

  Sini cast about for some way to help, but she had no weapon. Without Alaric, she couldn’t do anything with the sunfire. She pushed energy into her ring, but how would lighting something on fire help anything? The
Keepers, Pest, and Dalton met the attackers in the open space. Roan stepped in front of her, his sword drawn, facing the approaching men.

  “Don’t stand here like an idiot.” Sini pushed him. “Go help them!”

  He planted his feet and studied the approaching men. “I have orders to keep you safe.”

  The brown robed man raised his voice. “The Keepers are a plague! Rid our land of their filth!”

  The others joined in, cries of “Plague” and “Filth” ringing through the small valley. An attacker ran toward Roan.

  “I know those words!” Sini grabbed Roan’s arm and peered past him. “Alaric! Those are Mallon’s words!”

  “I know.” Alaric grunted and knocked a wild axe swing away. He slammed his thin stick into the attacker’s side. Instead of breaking the stick, the man crumpled to the side in a cry of pain.

  “How did you make that stick?” Will called, his own normal stick breaking against a farmer’s sickle.

  “Infused it with the essence of a stone,” Alaric called.

  “I don’t really want to know,” Will called, ducking back. “I just want my own!”

  Alaric threw him the stick and picked up an even thinner one from the ground. Shaking out his hand, he touched a rock and closed his eyes with a grimace. Orange tongues of energy wrapped along the branch as he strengthened it. He grunted in pain and swung it at the next attacker.

  Will swung the stick and knocked the sickle out of the farmer’s hand. “The last few years,” he grunted, “have made me wonder if Keepers shouldn’t carry weapons.” He grabbed the farmer’s arm, and his brow drew in concentration. The man suddenly stopped fighting, his face relaxing.

  “Yes,” Will said, “that’s better. Time to calm down a little.”

  The farmer blinked at the chaos around them and Will patted him on the shoulder before running past him to meet another attacker.

  “Cleanse from the filth!” the leader cried.