Destiny (The Keeper's Trilogy Book 1)

by Olivia Ali

  I don’t remember what happened that moment everything went dark and I don’t remember what came in the light before the darkness – the actions that lead to me being found in the rubble of the Keeper Compound in Hasaghar. All I remember is waking up in the infirmary with Merlin by my side. I remember the look on his face when I asked where I was or where my father and Romeo were. He simply replied to me ‘Tristan you are in Hasaghar…Romeo is dead…do you not remember?’ I remember thinking I was dreaming, banging my head against the wall to try and wake myself up. Merlin had tried to restrain me and I jumped up running from the building and into the streets. Somehow, I found myself at a graveyard stood in front of two headstones quite close together. I read the names on them; ‘Romeo Romano’ and ‘Dagnen Romano’. At the time I never realised the importance of the second headstone. I remember still thinking I was dreaming and throwing myself to the floor shouting ‘Wake up!’ A man came over to me as I crouched on the ground, I didn’t know who he was, not even now. He picked me off my knees and stood me tall. ‘Do not weep for the dead my dear boy,’ he said to me. ‘They are in a better place than this Hell. They are beside us always, though not seen by the naked eye. The dead never leave those they love!’ In his hands he held two flowers, one being some form of grass root that he placed by Romeo’s headstone. The second was a white rose which he placed before Dagnen’s. ‘A wreath for the return of a fallen soldier and a rose for the maiden who died protecting those she loved. Both taken before their time, and no sweeter was blood ever spilt as innocent as these two souls.’ With those words lingering in my head, I watched him leave the graveyard and join another man who, now that I think about it; I recognise now – his shoulder length blonde hair shining out against the grey sky. This other man was holding what looked like a bundle of rags and cloths in his arm, but he held them carefully; as though cradling a new born to make it stay sleeping in a moment of disturbance.

  I don’t remember much about the trip home either, I just remember Merlin trying endlessly to jog my memory by mentioning certain names or events I may or may not have been involved in. Now that I look at it, I wonder why Merlin let me walk away from Hasaghar without my daughter. Was it because he did not know where she was? But surely that would not have stopped him telling me about her. But then maybe the situation was out of his hands and he had no choice but to keep her a secret from me. Whatever the reason, I wish he would have told me! And what about my father? What was his reason for keeping her a secret? After all, she would have been his first grandchild. Perhaps he didn’t even know she existed…but surely, I would have told him about something such as that…

  For the first time since he had broken away from the grip that was restraining him back in the square, he looked up ahead of him – to see exactly what it was he was running towards. It was then that Tristan realised he was heading towards a cliff beyond the trees and he found himself unable to stop, launching over the edge in line with the gushing waterfall down to meet the river below. It wasn’t long before he managed to get his head above the water but his feet wouldn’t touch the bottom as he tried to gain stability. But he felt as though he was drowning as the waves dragged him ever deeper. As they flashed past his eyes, he thought he saw something on the riverbank – a woman perhaps. As each wave passed him by, she changed, her white dress gleaming as her face became more and more beautiful. But then she changed again, as though she was dying before his very eyes; her dress becoming dirty and her face scarred as she slipped out of sight, enveloped by the water. He tried again to gain stability, flapping his arms about and trying to turn away from the current. But he is only dragged deeper until his face was no longer on the surface of the river. He lost his breath as the water held him in its clutches, the darkness in his mind suddenly becoming all he could see as he drifted along to the current of the river.

  “Tristan!” shouted a voice as its owner pounded down on the unconscious chest that lay before him, dripping wet by the side of the river. “Come on Tristan, for fuck’s sake breathe!” he pounded his chest again, this time slightly harder. It had the desired effect though and Tristan shot upright, spurting water everywhere, luckily just missing his rescuer. As he choked out the rest, he turned around to see his saviour…Dante.

  “’Bout bloody time too, was almost gonna give up on you.”

  “How did you even find me?” asked Tristan, thumping his chest to bring up the rest of the water in his lungs.

  “Oh yes, why thank you Dante for rescuing me and stopping me from drowning. Oh it’s okay Tristan don’t mention it…it was my pleasure.” It was almost as though his accent strengthened when he mocked people making Tristan come to the decision it was something he enjoyed doing…either that or he just expected people to treat him differently, or it could even be a cover up for his tarnished ego.

  “Sorry, um thank you,” Tristan uttered as he choked up yet more water.

  “Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t worked out what you owe me in return…”

  “But you just said…”

  “Actually, scratch that, you owe me a new pair of boots. Just look at the state of them!” Tristan looked over at Dante’s boots. To be fair they looked as ancient as the trees around them so it probably wasn’t Tristan’s fault that they now needed replacing.

  “So how did you find me then?” Tristan asked again, determined to get some answers this time.

  “Sort of figured out you would end up needing help the state you were in and I didn’t see anyone else running after you when you broke away from Balderick…”

  “Balderick? I didn’t even realise it was him pulling me back.”

  “You were pretty upset, what happened to make you like that?”

  “I don’t even know what came over me.”

  “Did you remember something?”

  “I think so…why do you care anyway?”

  “You know,” Dante said casually as he leant back against the tree behind him. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age and let’s just say that it’s not exactly the safest way to live. The edge may feel great but…” he sighed heavily as though filled with regret. “You never know when you’re gonna fall off.”

  “How old even are you?”

  “Excuse me…how rude of you…”

  “You see there you go again,” he had stopped coughing now, his lungs finally clear of water but his chest sore from heaving. “You speak like you’re from a different world…a different age almost. Like this place is far too new for you…like your old fashioned or something.”

  “Would you like to know a secret Tristan Romano?” asked Dante after a while, now being entirely serious as he leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. “In all honesty you’re right; I’m not of this time! In fact, I don’t even know how old I am I’ve jumped so far forward.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For as long as I can remember I’ve been walking through the World of the Faded - you see over a century ago, I, like you, was a Brother of Union. That mark on your palm makes us the same...I too am Nobility of the Brothers of Union. I was part of the fifth generation and I’ve no idea what one you’re part of…”

  “The fiftieth!” Tristan answered, no sooner had he spoke it though he wondered how he had known that as the answer had sprung from nowhere.

  “Bloody hell I am old! I can’t even do the math…if there are fifty years between each generation and we are now at the fiftieth that makes me…”

  “Almost as old as Linford…” Tristan laughed, pushing his luck and half not knowing where his witty remark had come from.

  “Oye, I’m nowhere near as old as him!” Dante scorned as he leant forward and clipped Tristan round the ear. “You know me and you have a lot in common.”

  “Certainly not the age…” Tristan sniggered, trying to say it under his breath but he was unable to contain his laughter.

  “Hey, you’re pushing your luck matey! I mean in the sense that we are almost alike in every aspect. I me
an you have a wife and daughter out there somewhere and when I faded, I had a betrothed. It’s crazy to think that out there somewhere could be my descendants, I might have already even bumped into them and not even know.”

  “Do you even know why your back…no offense of course.”

  “None taken! I think I do…”

  “Why?”

  “You!” Tristan looked over at Dante’s still serious face. “I am back to make you remember…because I have a second chance at completing my destiny!”

  “Make me remember?”

  “Yes Tristan! And I know how this must sound to you but I am telling you the truth, I really am here to help you, at least that’s what I believe.”

  “But why? Apart from the fact that I have a daughter out there somewhere I can’t think of anything else that was significant in my past.”

  “Unfinished business perhaps?” Tristan remained silent, looking away from Dante who took it upon himself to give Tristan some answers whether they were the ones he was looking for or not. “As a Brother of Union it is first your duty to destroy your sworn enemies; The Brothers of Dharsi and second to keep the union of the Keepers together. You see before our great Father Talus came along, the Keeperhood was split in two; The Keepers of Secrets and the Keepers of Time. They appeared out of nowhere, both to protect the townsfolk from supernatural entities; that was the one thing that united them. Over time their purpose changed, bringing Talus and his four brothers to unite them as the Keeperhood. As a result, he and his brothers were known as the first generation of the Brothers of Union. However, not all the Keepers were in favour of the union and ninety-nine of the brothers from both sides came together to form the Brotherhood of Dharsi, to oppose Talus and the new High Order that had been created. One of their brothers betrayed them though, to the third generation of Union and they were quickly disbanded and banished to the Land of the Faded where they were bound by time itself. However, not all of them were punished…some managed to escape; eight I believe not including the one who betrayed them in the first place. They changed their appearance using dark magic and since, as far as I’m aware, only one of them has been put to justice; Montifon…the Pretend Leader. Me and my brothers exposed him!”

  “What has all this got to do with me and my so-called unfinished business?” Tristan was tired of story time now, especially as most of this was what Merlin had already told him.

  “Don’t you get it?” Dante grabbed ahold of Tristan’s hand and showed the palm up to face him. “You are Nobility…a Brother of Union. And from what I understand, you and your brotherhood started a war against the remaining Brothers of Dharsi…a war which you must now finish.”

  “Why me? Can’t they do it on their own?”

  “Do you even know what Union means? You, and I mean you started this war when you named Herasin; the leader…the father. When you name a Brother of Dharsi you sentence them to banishment…to death even; with the intention of carrying out that sentence. The one who passes the sentence must carry out the sentence and you apparently named two brothers which means you must end two of them!”

  “But I don’t even remember any of that so how am I supposed to finish something I don’t even remember starting?”

  “By remembering, which in time I’m sure you will.”

  “Merlin has been trying to get me to remember for nearly four years now and nothing.”

  “Until now!” Dante finished, looking at Tristan with concern. “I have a different approach though.”

  Tristan sniggered mockingly to himself. As if he would know how to help him remember when he didn’t even know him. He shook his head, turning away from Dante for a moment.

  “Come with me!” Dante said after a while.

  “Come with you where?”

  “To Dilu. There’s an old Keeper Compound there that may have some answers.”

  “Merlin says that’s where I became a Scribe.”

  “I think that a more physical method will help jog your memory.”

  Tristan went silent for a while, his mind racing with thoughts of the visions he had seen in the square, wondering what onlookers must have thought of him. Perhaps a break away was what he needed to clear his head…but his daughter. Somewhere out there was a young girl who did not know her father because some brotherhood had wanted to end him and that made him angry – the thought that someone else had taken his own destiny into their hands. He clenched his fists; his decision was made.

  “When do we leave?” he asked finally.

  “End of the week.”

  “Not sooner?” Tristan scorned, sighing heavily.

  “What and just leave things the way they are?”

  “I’m not going back to my father, not after today…and I’m not ready to hear what Merlin has to say just yet…”

  “I hope you don’t think those are the only ones who have lied to you all these years?”

  “Who else is there? And anyway, how is it you know more about me than I do?” Dante sniggered slyly at that, and Tristan shot him a look.

  “That is for you to discover for yourself.” Dante said as he rose to his feet, his boots squelching as he did so. He held out a hand to Tristan who paused before taking it, still unsure of whether or not he could trust Dante. “If I were you, I’d head back and pack up some necessities from home and then find yourself somewhere to stay. I’ll look in on you later, but for now I need to get back to work before Ernie fires my sorry arse.” Smiling reassuringly at Tristan, he jogged on ahead into the trees and disappearing into the creeping mist, leaving Tristan to make his own way back to town.

  Chapter 8 - An Ancient Brotherhood

  As the city gates took form on the horizon Tristan paused for a moment; no doubt his father would be at home waiting for him, tracing his non-existent goatee and running has large worn hands through his short blonde hair. He’d then place his hands on his skinny waist and continue to pace the room, anger levels rising at the same pace as his worry. Since Romeo’s death, Theorryn had really let himself go. He relied on the drink even more than he usually did and the only time he was sober was at council meetings, although more recently not even then. He didn’t seem to care much for Tristan either, so long as he was keeping his nose out of trouble. Some things never change, he thought to himself as visions of his father slating his character came crawling back to him. They were faint in the back of his mind, and he couldn’t make out much except seeing himself sat with his head in his hands on the couch and his father pacing back and forth berating him with harsh words. That event was all too common back when he was younger and happened far less once he had become a Keeper. Despite his father never agreeing to them joining the Keepers, he had never been prouder of him then with the feats he performed during his training.

  Taking a deep breath, he braced himself; if he was going to face his father, he should better get on with it. Just one last deep breath! He made his way up the hill towards their cottage by the vegetable patches on the outside of the city walls. As he reached the front door he dared a look through the window, spotting his father doing exactly as he knew he would be; pacing up and down the living room with his hands on his hips. There was something he didn’t expect though and that was the flagon of ale on the table in front of the couch…trust him! The sight of this fuelled Tristan’s anger even more; if it wasn’t for Dante, Tristan would be dead more than likely, and there his father was…looking for answers at the bottom of a flagon, drinking his thoughts into oblivion rather than out looking for him. Then again, Tristan had always been a disappointment to his father, so he expected nothing less.

  There was something lying next to the flagon though, something he couldn’t make out from his current location but it looked like a photograph; probably the one the stranger had dropped back in the Smithy, the one of his wife and daughter alongside himself. He must have dropped it as he struggled with Balderick and then somehow his father got ahold of it. Taking yet another deep breath he pushed forward on the front do
or, calmly making his way into the sitting room to face Theorryn the witty younger Tristan was now out for good and he was going to give his father everything he had inside him so that he knew just what he thought of him.

  “Tristan…you’re back?” Theorryn exclaimed, finally noticing his own son standing in the doorway watching him pace, his eyes all spacey as though he couldn’t seem to focus them.

  “No thanks to you!” scorned Tristan, looking down on his father.