Destiny (The Keeper's Trilogy Book 1)

by Olivia Ali

  “Where were you?” Theorryn ignored the comment, deciding to take the responsible parent tone which was next to impossible with the smell of ale lingering in his words.

  “I threw myself off a cliff,” Tristan smirked confidently, a touch of arrogance to his tone.

  “You never take anything seriously, do you? You’re just a boy…you are no man…”

  “I mean it father,” Tristan shouted. “I threw myself off a cliff and who fished me out of the river…not you, not Merlin…the bartender at the inn. Where were you, drowning your sorrows no doubt.” He pointed his hand towards the flagon, noticing that it really was empty.

  “I had no idea…”

  “Do not lie to me! I saw you in the square with Merlin, watching as I struggled in Balderick’s grip so don’t you dare tell me you didn’t know what happened to me.” In his father’s silence, he took the opportunity to pick up the photograph on the table. He decided to take a different approach this time, mock his father almost, and show him the extent of his new found madness. “Amazing isn’t it; how of all the things the glyphs can do the Keepers find a way to preserve a single moment on a piece of parchment. Shall I tell you how it’s done?” he began to circle the room, his words taking a patronising tone. “They use a glyph, looks like a square inside a square and then they draw it in the air with their right hand, holding a piece of parchment in the other. The subjects of the photograph stand in front of them a couple of feet away, just acting natural and then their image; their moment of happiness as it were, is preserved in a single image. Fascinating!” He threw the photograph down onto the table so that it land facing his father who scanned a quick look at the image. “Did you know I had a family, a wife…a daughter?”

  “I swear I did not…”

  “Do not lie!”

  Tristan launched himself up the stairs, causing his father to follow. He raced into his bedroom, throwing open the doors of his wardrobe and reaching for something hidden in the darkness of the top shelf; something that he was only half sure was even there.

  “Tristan?” his father yelled as he span round the corner to find Tristan on the floor with the contents of small ornate wooden box spread around him. The contents appeared to be more photographs like the one downstairs – dozens of them. “Where did you get these?”

  “I’ve had them ever since I came back from Hasaghar…something you didn’t manage to hide from me!”

  His father gasped, struggling to come to terms with the words coming out of Tristan’s mouth. After all these years, he was finally remembering and this was Theorryn’s worst nightmare as the lies he had told to keep his son close began to unravel before him. As more photographs littered the floor Tristan stopped, finally finding the one he was looking for. He rose to his feet and pushed the photograph into Theorryn’s chest, knocking him back slightly. Grimacing, he grabbed at Tristan’s arm, ripping the parchment from his clutches and staring at the image upon it. He recognised himself and Tristan along with Romeo too. There was a woman also, all draped in white looking radiant on the gorgeous spring day. She held a bouquet of white and yellow roses, the only other colour on her being her brown locks and her green eyes.

  “You were there,” Tristan exclaimed, cursing as he did so. “You were at my wedding. You congratulated me on the ‘catch’ I had made. For the first time in my entire life, you were proud of me!” his father remained silent but his eyes spoke a thousand words as they stared at the photograph; a thousand lies unravelling in one single image. After a while he looked up at Tristan, the anger on his son’s face almost unbearable for him to face.

  “I have always been proud of you…”

  “For the last time father, do not lie to me! Growing up, I was nothing to you. Romeo was the golden child, the one who did everything right and there was me – constantly living in his shadow…the black sheep of the family. After all, what was it you used to say, every family has one. Every time I got myself into trouble you would berate me, begging me to be more like Romeo. You were never happy with who I was! Heck, even when Romeo got into trouble too, it would be me you blamed for leading him astray. You couldn’t believe that your golden boy wasn’t perfect. In fact, the reason he played up was so that you would see it! He hated the way you made me feel which is why I never hated him for the way you treated me…it was you I hated!”

  “How dare you…”

  “How dare I? How dare you more like! It’s one thing to keep my dead wife from me…but my daughter…”

  Theorryn was silent. Now his lies were literally crumbling right in front of him, and he didn’t even know how to recover the situation. He ran his hands through his hair, turning his back on Tristan in shame.

  “You literally have nothing to say? The ale has probably worn off and can’t fuel anymore lies for you to spill. I mean, what else have you been lying to me about? The next thing you’ll be telling me is that the Keepers didn’t try to kill me and there was something else responsible for my memory loss.” Theorryn sighed heavily, turning around to face his son; remorse and guilt filling his eyes in the form of tears that would never spill. “I knew it! And you can’t even do me the decency and offer an explanation.”

  When his father still said nothing, Tristan began gathering up the contents of the box and packed it away, placing it on the bed. He grabbed his pack from the chair by the desk and began stuffing shirts and breaches into it. He then placed the box in there, cushioning it with his shirts.

  “What are you doing?” Theorryn asked, a little delayed in his response to the packing Tristan was doing.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” he mocked, pulling on his overcoat and throwing his pack over his shoulder.

  “Tristan you can’t leave…I mean where will you go?”

  “Anywhere is better than here!”

  Tristan barged past his father, making his way downstairs and to the front door, ignoring Theorryn’s constant yelling of his name as he followed him to the door. But Tristan was done listening to the lies that rolled off his father’s tongue easier than counting to three. His father stopped at the door though, realising Tristan was not going to change his mind and watched as Tristan continued walking, heading up the hill and towards the city gates in the waning daylight.

  ~~~

  “Mind if I take a pew?”

  Tristan looked up from the photo he had been mindlessly staring at, reality swimming back to him as his thoughts deserted him like darkness flees an approaching light. The man that stood before him was Balderick, his bald head seemingly shinier in the dying light of the night sky. He waved his right hand in the air, reminding Tristan of his question. Tristan nodded to him, so Balderick sat beside him, lighting his pipe and proceeding to smoke it; breathing a sigh of relief as he did so.

  “You sound like you needed that,” Tristan presumed.

  “I most certainly did!” explained Balderick as he leant forward slightly, his long purple cloak stretching across his back, the gold buckle at the shoulder struggling slightly under the tension. Balderick was the head of the city guard and the purple signified this. He was a good man and a close friend of Tristan’s too despite the fact that he was twice his age and old enough to be his father.

  “I tell you it’s been a killer of a day!” Balderick went on. “I mean, even before you lost your nut…no offense of course.” Balderick was from the south in Telnar and his dialect had once been alien to Tristan, in fact many, even now, took his words to offense although they were never meant in that way.

  “None taken, what else happened today then?”

  “Started my shift as usual at sun up and it seemed quite ordinary. But it didn’t stay nice and quiet for long no sir it did not. Shortly after midday a protest broke out just outside the castle. Apparently, what was discussed in confidence at the council meeting somehow got out to the masses. Do you remember the king’s son, Jacques?”

  “How could I forget? He was one of mine and Romeo’s best friends along with Merlin’s so
n Thomas. He disappeared the day his mother died forcing many to think he did it. Father told us he died; travellers found him in the mountain pass a week later. He was already dead though!”

  “Well young chap; that is where you are wrong…our young prince is actually alive.”

  “What? But they bought back his body?”

  “Apparently not! Ivan wouldn’t give me the details but seems pretty shady. They don’t want any more information getting out, especially as the city folk have somehow convinced themselves the council are harbouring the prince in an underground prison to keep his survival a secret. I mean, it doesn’t help the fact that the King’s advisor Daniel was even arrested and branded a traitor. It would appear conspiracy and corruption are rife in the castle at the moment. Crazy times we live in!”

  “Indeed,” Tristan agreed, his mind full of even more questions than he already had.

  “Then of course you lose your nut in front of the whole city and the rest, well…nothing a good ale won’t cure anyway.”

  Balderick tapped out the burnt tobacco into the fountain, letting the water take it away and dissolve it into oblivion. Pocketing his pipe, he rose to his feet and stretched tall – his old bones creaking with fatigue from a hard day’s work. He looked at Tristan with hope, noticing how he had pocketed whatever the bit of paper was in his hand. He looked lost, his eyes the most clouded over he had ever seen them, even after he returned from Hasaghar.

  “Would you care to join me for a pint or two?” asked Balderick as Tristan looked up at him considering his options. “We don’t have to go the Sleepy Warden if you don’t want…that is to say if you are still avoiding Jenni?”

  “It’s her night off tonight actually,” replied Tristan, not even denying the point.

  “Then it’s settled!” Balderick knelt to pick up Tristan’s bags, slinging it over his shoulder as he did so. “We shall drop these in with Marcine on the way…”

  “Marcine?” Tristan questioned, suddenly confused by his suggestion.

  “Yes Marcine…my wife who else would she be?” Tristan still looked confused. “You need a place to stay don’t you…and we can’t have you swindling away in some inn now can we? Besides, we have that spare room now that our Archibald has gone to the academy in Lakir. I can’t see him needing it any time soon.” Tristan looked shocked; how had Balderick known about my predicament? He thought as he rose to his feet, grabbing his other bag. Balderick lead the way to his house towards the castle and then onto the inn for a pint of ale or two.

  Taking a stool each at the bar, the two waited for the bartender to notice them. The place was swamped with people and with only Dante serving, things were rather hectic. He got to them in good time though, making quick work of the customers before them – he certainly had a knack for this. As he came over to them, he winked in Tristan’s direction, nodding to Balderick too as though he were an old friend.

  “What can I get you gents?” asked Dante, slinging his cloth over his shoulder as he patted down the tarnished white apron around his waist.

  “I’ll have a nice ale please sir,” replied Balderick. “And my friend Tristan will have your best wheat beer. Stick it on my tab!”

  “Coming right up!”

  “Do you know him,” Tristan asked as Dante went about preparing their drinks.

  “In a manner of speaking I suppose…”

  “There we are gents…Balderick I’ve put it on your tab,” announced Dante as he placed down their drinks carefully.

  “Why thank you Dante. Why don’t you join us after you finish up here?”

  “I certainly will when Francis decides to show his sorry arse!” he turned away and began serving his other customers.

  Deciding to remain where they sat, the two sipped their drinks – the fresh aroma hitting the backs of their throats and relaxing their every nerve.

  “So tell me Tristan, what caused your little breakdown in the square today?”

  “How about I ask you a question Balderick?” answered Tristan. He couldn’t really explain to himself even what happened so telling Balderick would be a struggle in itself.

  “Sure, fire away!” he replied taking another sip of his ale.

  “What do you remember about when I came back from Hasaghar?”

  “You were very different that’s for sure.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it…so let me put in a bit of context. Before you left for Dilu you were confident…a sarky kind of confidence though…not the sort anyone praises to be honest. You chased after maidens, and boy you were ruthless in your selection. You liked the brunettes…you used to say the darkness of their hair tempted you into doing things you never thought yourself capable of – made it out like they were seducing you when really it was the other way around. Then of course, you ran into that Keeper…”

  “What Keeper?” asked Tristan, suddenly realising where his memory loss actually began.

  “So that’s as far as you go is it? What is the last thing you remember from four years ago? Let me describe the situation…seeing as I was the one chasing you…”

  “Chasing…yes that’s it! I remember we had snuck into the gardens to see Iris; she didn’t even know we were there watching her. Of course, that wasn’t the intention…”

  “Course it wasn’t, how stupid do you think I am?”

  “Honest…Jacques…” he froze suddenly, realising just how this was linked to their previous conversation by the fountain. He ignored the coincidence and continued with his excuses. “Romeo was waiting below the wall for us, supposedly keeping a lookout; although I swear blind he was too busy talking up Primrose Marie to notice you coming along and yanking us down from that wall. Of course, we went running, couldn’t have father finding out we were in trouble yet again. Ended up in a little alleyway waiting for you to give up and then the rest…the rest is all just a blur.”

  “I’m sure you’ll remember in time, just like the rest of it!” he raised his glass to Dante as he spied a look over. “Stick with Dante here and he’ll see to it that you remember everything there is for you to remember.” Dante nodded to him, sighing as he began serving yet another endless stream of customers.

  “How is it exactly that you know Dante?” asked Tristan, his curiosity still not satisfied.

  “Well…technically speaking we were once brothers…”

  “Once?” interrupted Dante coming over to lean on the bar opposite them as another barman relieved him of his duties for a short while. “Are we not still brothers then Balderick?”

  “We can be if you want to be I suppose…”

  “You know what I would really like,” asked Dante, a cheeky grin appearing on his face. “I would like to know what happened to all your hair.” Dante reached over the bar and shined his knuckles on Balderick’s bald head. Balderick looked down at his empty tankard, turning red with slight embarrassment. “I mean I remember a time…hundreds of years ago of course, where your hair must have reached your waist.” Tristan grinned at the remark, spying the look on Dante’s face.

  “You’re one to talk! Have you seen the length of your hair right now? Practically touches the floor!”

  “Yes, but it suits me,” exclaimed Dante as he waved his hair around as though he were a woman showing off her luscious locks. “Completes my handsome rugged look - has all the ladies at me feet.” Dante smiled, stroking his seemingly soft beard and winking to a woman sat at a table in the centre of the inn who shied away, looking back out of the corner of her eye.

  “As I remember it, Nielson spent most of his time teasing you about your luscious locks and how much of a woman they made you look.” Continued Dante.

  “Ah yes but Nielson…”

  “Nielson?” asked Tristan, the name ringing a bell somewhere in the back of his mind.

  “Yes Tristan…Nielson is another of our brothers,” explained Dante. “How do you know him?”

  “I’m not sure, the name just seems to remind me of…
someone…” Tristan tried to explain himself as he scratched the side of his head, trying to remember.

  “Like Balderick said, it’ll all come back to you in time, speaking of which, my five-minute break is probably up by now. Some of us have to work for a living. Why don’t you take him home Balderick?” he nodded towards Tristan. “He looks like he needs some shut eye.”

  “Actually, he will be staying with me until he goes to Dilu with you.” Balderick said as he rose to his feet, patting Tristan on the back to pull him up to his feet.

  “Oh right,” Dante swung his washcloth over his shoulder once more. “In that case I will pop in on you later.”

  Dante winked at the two of them as he set about his work again and Balderick and Tristan left the inn.

  “So you and Dante…brothers?” asked Tristan just as they reached Balderick’s house.