Destiny (The Keeper's Trilogy Book 1)

by Olivia Ali

  Chapter 6 – Breakdown

  It was amazing how much busier the square had got in what must have been only half an hour. Tristan worked his way through the crowds of people, thinking he might as well head to work early as he was already half way there – there was no point going back home now. After all, an extra hour meant more money at the end of the day. He skirted down one of the approaching side streets as he often did when the square was this busy, rushing up some steps and heading through the herb garret before getting to the Smithy opposite the old mill. He came through the front door, only to bump into his boss Lionel, the swords he was holding in his hands crashing to the floor and making a loud clanging noise.

  “I am so sorry Lionel,” Tristan stammered, lowering to his knees and helping him gather up the swords.

  “It’s fine, it’s fine!” Lionel had a gruff accent that seemed to match his ‘built like a brick shit house’ stamina. “I am actually glad you’re hear early, just a minute and I’ll explain why.”

  Tristan handed Lionel the rest of the swords and followed him out back into the yard, watching as he loaded them onto the back of a wagon.

  “Are you making a delivery?” Tristan asked, raking his brain wondering how he had managed to get ahold of so many swords so quickly.

  “Not exactly…start passing me those shields down there.” Lionel pointed to a pile of plain crested shields that were leaning up against the wall.

  “Are we going to war?”

  “We aren’t, but someone is. Not exactly sure who has made this order to be honest with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As the order was finished being loaded into the wagon, Lionel looked around and folded his arms, standing close to Tristan.

  “I got a message from Ivan telling me that I had to take the swords that weren’t being used by the Infantry and any others that I had in my stock room to the forest of Az Landen as soon as possible. He never said why, just that it had to be quick and to be quiet about it. I don’t think he wants people to worry.”

  “So Az Landen are going to war?” Tristan’s uncles lived in the forest and his thoughts turned to them. One of them was married to a princess there so no doubt would be fighting in this supposed war. His father never really spoke of his uncles; he hadn’t done so in years.

  “I’m not too sure, but somebody is. I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks, but not to worry I’ve roped Digg and Freddie into helping out here and take it in turns to cover your days off. Of course, I had to promise to pay them to actually get them to agree to helping me. So much for helping family out huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Oh and one more thing before I go; there’s a package slipped behind the helmets in the stock room on the fourth shelf down for a Mr Baldwin. He’ll probably come in about mid-day and ask for it so make sure he gets it, it’s very important.” He turned away and readied himself upon the wagon, grasping the reins of the horses tightly in his hands. “Oh and one last thing,” Tristan laughed slightly as he came to stand by the horses, wondering if Lionel would ever leave. “A man was in here looking for you yesterday, said he needed to talk to you about something but didn’t say what. I told him you were on your day off so he said he’d come back today and try and catch you.”

  Yesterday? Tristan thought to himself, he didn’t even remember having his day off. Whatever happened to him had caused him to sleep through it he assumed. He was going to have to do something about his obsession with this place, especially as he hadn’t even noticed it would’ve been his day off.

  “Did he give you a name?”

  “John Basso he said his name was.”

  “Never heard of him!” Tristan answered truthfully, curious to the identity of yet another stranger in town.

  “Oh well, he might not pop in then, you never know. I’ll see you soon Tristan.” He exclaimed as he led the horses away out into the fields and onto the road that headed north.

  “See you soon Lionel!” Tristan called after him, waving as he did so.

  Back inside, Tristan set about cleaning up the mess Lionel had left in the stock room, scanning his eyes over the helmets a he did so and spotting the parcel he had mentioned. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reached for the brown papered box, shaking it slightly to hear no rattle. He shrugged his shoulders, replacing it back on the shelf and heading to the front door to open up. It was strange how in one week, three absolute strangers had walked into town and somehow, Tristan would come into contact with all three. Coincidence maybe, but in Tristan’s mind; nothing was ever coincidence.

  The slamming of the front door bought Tristan out of his thoughts and he noticed for the first time that passing hour, what he was actually doing – there was practically nothing left of the smelted iron he had been hammering. Laughing to himself, he threw it in the scrap pile and made his way into the front room to see what the cause of the slamming was. In the space before the door stood a tall, dark haired man with his back to Tristan. He was wearing a long leather coat that almost reached his ankles.

  “Can I help you?” asked Tristan, part of him feeling immediately cautious.

  The man turned around slowly, casting his eyes over to Tristan. His eyes were a stark brown with a slight tinge of red perhaps to them. His greasy looking short black hair curved across his brow, sweeping around his head like a bowl hair cut only more stylish. The collar of his leather coat almost touched his chin which was covered by a beard that framed around his sublime mouth. Underneath his coat was a dark brown shirt that was tucked into a pair of black leather breaches. The black was tarnished though, looking greyer than anything as they descended into heavy black boots with whitish silver patterns on the back of the heel. They gave off a regal impression, as though this man was a figure of class.

  “I was looking for Tristan Romano…” the man had a quiet voice that perhaps once had been commanding but had over the years lost its confidence in speaking in front of others. Somewhere along the lines, this man had been wronged, scared by someone who had overpowered him once before.

  “That’s me! What is it you want? A sword, armour?”

  “Nothing of that kind no,” he was well spoken this stranger, Tristan had already assumed he was the man in here looking for him the day before; John Basso.

  “Then what? Do you require my services or what?”

  “I ‘require’…your forgiveness…”

  “Forgiveness?” Tristan repeated, confused as to what the man meant. When he did not say anything more, his face turned stern and he uncrossed his arms, resting fists by his side. “Who are you?”

  “So it’s true then…”

  “What’s true?”

  “You have…forgotten!” Tristan thought he saw a smile turn up the ends of his mouth but only slightly. The man rose his head, turning to face Tristan fully. Now, his confidence had returned, as though the fact that Tristan did not remember him made him less scared of whatever it was he was scared of.

  “Who are you?” Tristan asked again, shaken by the man’s sudden change in demeanour.

  “My name is John Basso,” he spoke louder now; his confidence had definitely returned to him now. “I used to teach you when you were a Keeper…you have nothing to fear from me dear boy.” Again, the smile touched his lips, it was a wry smile, almost menacing as though it hid a much darker intention.

  “Teach me?”

  “I taught you magic Tristan, the ability to command and manipulate the Glyphs.” As he spoke, he strode slowly towards Tristan, almost circling him as a lion would his prey. As he did so, he turned a gloved hand wrapping his fingers around to form a fist with a blue light shining above it in the shape of some form of rune. Tristan recognised it to be the sigil of the Keepers - that much Merlin had taught him.

  “If you were one of my teachers, why is it you desire my forgiveness?”

  “I don’t know if you know or not, but me and you had a…dispute,” he stopped less than a foot away from Tristan, the sm
ile still creeping onto his face, tainting his good intentions. Inside, Tristan felt compelled not to trust him, keep him close like you should someone you wish to keep an eye on. “I didn’t approve of your marriage to Dagnen…”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s probably best that you remember for yourself, isn’t it? What with her being dead and all!” When Tristan’s face hardened, he smirked again. “How tragic it was.” He spoke with thought, as though he was pretending to remember at the same time. His tone threw images into Tristan’s mind. No one had ever told him how Dagnen had died but it was like it was all coming back to him now. “I do apologise dear boy,” Tristan looked back up at Basso, catching himself on the counter as his knees almost gave way. “I had no idea you were this bad.” Although the smile seemed to linger, his eyes were full of anguish. Whatever he had done to Tristan all those years ago he seemed very sorry about and he really did want forgiveness. But how could Tristan give that to him if he didn’t know what it was for.

  “Tell you what, I’m just going to go, and leave you with a couple of words,” Basso walked towards the door before turning and saying words filled with grief and agony, the smirk completely gone. “I truly am sorry for everything I did to you and your brothers all those years ago. And I hope one day, when you remember it all, you find it in your heart to forgive me my sins. I am sorry she is dead, I never meant to cause the two of you the harm I did.” He watched Tristan stand there motionless, swaying slightly as he held on to the edge of the counter trying to remain standing. It was like he wasn’t hearing the words Basso was speaking though, as though he had gone numb from feeling. “If you ever need me Tristan, you can find me in the Mountain pub at Ragnur, whatever it is you need; I will endeavour myself to help you always.” Tristan looked up, catching Basso’s eyes as he left the Smithy, shutting the door behind him.

  No sooner had he left, Tristan’s knees finally gave up on him and he found himself falling to the ground. He grabbed the archway and swung himself into the back room to cradle himself and come to terms what he had just heard. As he uttered her name aloud, a face flashed in his mind, but he didn’t catch the image long enough to determine any features. Wiping his hands across his face, he thought about shutting up the shop and seeking out his father or Merlin. Someone would explain to him what Basso had said; now once again, he wanted answers. From somewhere within him, a sudden strength took over and he pulled himself to his feet to walk back into the front of the shop where another man stood in the doorway.

  At first, Tristan thought it was Basso but then that was impossible seeing as this man looked completely different. He too stood like a man of class, but he wasn’t as dark and secretive as Basso. He was more outward about his regal attire and took a more glamourous aura. The man was shorter than John and had blonde wavy hair that stretched below his ears to the base of his neck. It had been groomed neatly, curling inwards at the ends of the layers. His eyes were a taunt blue, as though in his life he had seen many a horror and sadness. His face was framed by a well-trimmed beard that made him look slightly more masculine than he appeared to be. He wore a brown leather jacket that was cut off at his waist with tarnished gold patterns that outlined the seam and buttons down one side. Underneath he wore a tan shirt; similar to the one Basso had worn, that was tucked into brown breaches descending into simple looking dark boots that clicked the floor as he stepped forward. Again, a slight smile touched his lips, as though he were happy to see Tristan for whatever reason that may be.

  “Can I help you sir?” Tristan asked, bucking up hidden courage and standing tall behind the counter.

  “Yes, you can,” the stranger said after a while, the smile disappearing from his face at the sound of the word sir. “I’m here to pick up a package.”

  “You are?” Tristan tested, there was no way he was going to just hand it over to any man that walked in claiming a parcel.

  “Yes, Lionel left it for me. My name is Cedric Baldwin, you have a package for me am I correct?”

  “Yes that’s right I do, I just wanted to make sure I had the right person before me.”

  Cedric nodded as Tristan turned away, trying to think where he had heard the name before. He raked his brains as he reached for the package between the helmets on the fourth shelf, Cedric’s disappointed face flashing through his mind as though he expected Tristan to know him. What was it with all these strangers turning up in town being linked to Tristan somehow?

  “Here you are!” Tristan said, stepping out from the back room and placing the package on the counter.

  “Thank you,” Cedric stepped forward, picking up the package and turning to leave the way he had come in.

  As he opened the door, something dropped from his pocket, almost intentionally. Tristan sprang forward, picking it up from the floor and reaching out to give it back to Cedric.

  “Wait,” Cedric turned. “I think this belongs to you.”

  “Nope, sorry. I must be off!” Cedric replied honestly before leaving the shop.

  Curious, Tristan turned away from the door unfolding the piece of paper Cedric had dropped. As he straightened out the creases, he noticed it was a photograph and it took him a while to recognise the man in which was himself. He gasped, noting the woman that stood beside him, holding a baby upright in her arms. If it wasn’t for the vision Tristan had had back at his house of himself covered in scarred words, he would not have recognised the man in the photo as himself. He was smiling in the picture, a smile that could not possibly be wiped from existence. His eyes looked towards the woman and the baby whom he helped to hold up. His eyes doted on them, on the brown-haired woman that laughed to herself as though Tristan had said something funny at the time. Her face was well defined, high cheekbones flushing a tinge of pink against her green eyes. She bit back her bottom lip, as though trying to stop herself from laughing and the smile took notice away from her tired looking eyes. The baby they were holding couldn’t have been more than about four months old. Tristan assumed it to be a girl by the yellow dress that adorned her small figure. The baby was laughing, her blue eyes twinkling and dimples forming in her cheeks like Tristan’s own did when he laughed.

  He turned over the photo to see writing etched into the back scribing ‘Me, Dagnen and our daughter…’ There was a smudge next to it where a name might have been. The word ‘daughter’ struck him like a heavy blow, making his breath short in his chest. No one had ever told him he had a…

  He practically fell through the front door as he ran into the street, grabbing ahold of the nearest person he could find. He held up the photo, asking if he had seen the woman and child in the photo, feeling in his mind as though he had lost them and needed to find them somewhere quick…almost as though they were in danger. When the man he had collared shook his head and told him no he let go and grabbed the next person. Again, they shook their head, a woman giving Tristan a strange look as he burst into a run for the square looking to a guard for help. It was like he had gone crazy, like he wasn’t in control of what he was doing. Something much deeper than anything controlled him now and it was grief, the kind of grief you feel when you try to deny the truth to yourself. You tell yourself it never happened, try to convince yourself it was all a lie until eventually you believe it.

  He stopped in the square, grabbing people by the arms and begging them to look at the photo, to tell him whether or not they had seen his wife and daughter. As he ran around in circles, grief stricken by the people that were ignoring him, he caught Cedric’s face in the crowd. He tried to make a break for him, but he was pulled back as a man restrained him round his middle holding him steady and saying calming words Tristan could not hear over his own shouts of Cedric’s name. And then someone shouted his name, but it wasn’t the man that was clutching his midriff, it was a woman who suddenly fell into his arms. He was somewhere else in his mind, in a dark street beside a fountain very similar to the one he raved near in reality. The woman that lay in his arms was bleeding at her stomach which sh
e clutched; her face torn with pain.

  “Dagnen, please don’t die!” he found himself saying, almost begging the woman in his arms.

  Then the vision changed, as though flashing back into the past a couple of months before to himself and the dying woman once more resting in his own arms holding a new-born baby. No sooner had it appeared though the vision changed again and he found himself standing in front of a grave with the child now in his arms. The name on the headstone reading ‘Dagnen Romano’.

  Back in reality the now fully conscious Tristan screamed, tears pouring from his eyes. People all around stared at his anguish, at his pain as it fell to the floor with the rain that suddenly plagued the mid summers day. As he writhed and twisted in the man’s grip Tristan picked out faces in the crowd around him; Merlin, his father…and Dante stood in front of Jenni, with Cedric lurking in the backdraft. The look of guilt on both his father’s and Jenni’s faces made him angry, as though they knew they were partly to blame for his breakdown. It gave him strength, strength to break out of the man’s grasp and run until he could not run any further.

  Chapter 7 - Fate and Destiny

  It’s the same old story these days; the only people who seem to think you’ve changed are always those who mean the most to you. Most of the time they’re right and you really have changed, but other times you haven’t changed at all – they’re the ones who has changed. Some people change for the better; they change their appearance, their attitudes…some even change their name. These people have a choice about whether or not they change, however some do not have a choice but to change, whether it be for their own safety – like suddenly changing sides on a battlefield, or even for some other reason. There are even those who do not even realise they have changed – they just wake up one morning and everything is different. Sometimes there are those who change without realising as the result of an accident…because they have forgotten the person they once were. To go from being someone who was so sure of themselves in every action they do to being someone who is the complete opposite…it’s unexplainable. The people they know may go as far as to say they have changed for the better – they can start again, wipe the slate clean and just ignore what might or might not have happened in the new gap in your mind. For some, it’s just not that easy to begin again. But for others their forgetfulness comes from a certain situation that changed everything – flipped their life upside down. They make an attempt to change things back and then bang…suddenly everything is new…you don’t even remember what you were trying to fix in the first place.