by Olivia Ali
As he neared the huge open oak doors, song met his ears as the choir boys and girls rehearsed ready for the end of week mass. The church itself was a fairly new construction and religion – in the past five years the people of Halsgar had begun turning away from the Hammerites, Mechanists and Pagans and placing their faith in the One Almighty Lord. Tristan couldn’t help but think that if it wasn’t for the Keepers fading, this movement would never have happened in the first place. But it bought people peace in a time of uncertainty, and that he supposed was the most important thing.
The song that met his ears bought him to sit at one of the stalls and await its end. The sweet sound bought him comfort as he listened to the children sing of hope and trust and a prosperous land. He wondered if the land they sang of even existed in a world like this where so much was unexplained and unexpected. As the choir finished their song, the co-ordinator gathered them around him and instructed them in a hushed tone. Tristan took his rise at this point, heading for the candles in the corner; some dancing with a small flame and others remaining unlit. Taking a stick from the pot provided, he let the end of it catch alight and lit a candle in the corner. As he did so, he closed his eyes and whispered in prayer to himself. Today marked the day of his mother’s death – fifteen long years she had been gone and this seemed like one of the hardest he had faced without her. As he finished the prayer, he bought the key from around his neck up to his lips, touching them slightly. As he did so, he felt a tingling across them as the glyphs on his hands shone brightly in the light. He let the key drop against his chest and opened his eyes, the glyphs fading into his skin so that they seemed like scars etched upon his hands.
He turned his back on the candles as the choir resumed their singing and proceeded out of the doors towards the gravestones. He made his way down to one at the bottom of the hill near a flowerbed of beautiful bright colours. He knelt beside the grave, scraping away the dust from the white-washed headstone to reveal her name; Mariah Araell Romano. She had died fifteen years ago when an outbreak hit the city, killing many of its women and children. He remembered how in her last days she was so weak and so frail. She spent most of her time in bed and his father spent all his time taking care of her at her vigil constantly. When she died, that vigil turned towards the nearest bar to drink himself silly. But he chose not to think about those times right now, instead he chose the happy moments he and his brother Romeo shared with their mother…and father in their younger years.
“I miss you mum,” he said quietly to himself. “I wish you could be here; knock some sense into my father and help me remember my past. I could really do with the support – that’s for sure!”
A single tear escaped his fraught eyes and his mind drifted away with the memories within his mind. He was so lost in the visions that he almost didn’t notice the small shadow that formed beside him. When he did, he looked up to see a small child, probably no older than three years. She had long blond locks and green eyes that twinkled in the sunlight. She was dressed in a little yellow dress with a daisy chain plaited through her hair. In her hand she held a white rose which she handed to Tristan.
“Thank you!” Tristan said as he took the rose from her, confused by her presence. “What’s your name little one?”
When she didn’t answer him, he stared into her eyes, almost as if the answer lay within them. After a while of quiet, he sighed heavily, twiddling the rose in his fingers, catching one of them on a thorn as he did so. At this, the little girl seemed to get angry and snatched the rose off of him, startling Tristan. He watched as she placed the rose in front of his mother’s headstone before turning and facing Tristan once more. He marvelled at the intelligence of the little girl, staring into those green eyes once more.
“Who are you?” he asked again, not really expecting an answer.
As he stared back at the rose, he remembered the man in the vision he had after falling into the river. He had placed the rose on the grave of his wife. ‘A rose for the maiden who died protecting those she loved…’ the words came back to him as though they were a melody and he lingered there awhile, clinging to the words and not wanting to let go. He had no choice though, for no sooner had he drifted off, words of sheer panic and horror bought him back to reality.
“Evelyn!” a voice shouted somewhere over the hill. Tristan looked worryingly in the direction it had come from. “Evelyn!” the voice sounded exasperated, panic and desperation tainting the air around him making Tristan feel very conscious of the little girl standing beside him. She was looking down at the ground now, fiddling with her fingers.
“Evelyn,” he said to her. “Is that your name?”
Unsurprisingly enough the girl didn’t answer, but she did nod slightly however Tristan wasn’t sure it was in answer of his question or not. Getting to his feet, he stood behind the child as he saw a man appear on the hillside and begin running over to him.
“Evelyn!” his voice was calmer now that he had seen her once more and he came crashing to the floor in front of her, pulling her into a relieved hug. “Don’t you ever wonder off like that again you hear me?” Evelyn did a little nod again, placing her hands behind her back and digging her feet into the ground. The man rose now and turned to Tristan, straightening the hooded cloak that concealed his body and running his hand through his red hair. Tristan didn’t recognise the man; he certainly wasn’t from around here so he thought him a traveller perhaps.
“My thanks to you good sir,” he held out a scarred hand towards Tristan who looked at it strangely, taking the hand and shaking it firmly. “Ced would’ve killed me if I’d lost her…” he trailed off taking Evelyn by the hand.
“She’s not your daughter then?” Tristan asked, feeling suddenly unsure of the man.
“No…she…well…it’s complicated. How rude of me, I am Hugo and this child is the god daughter of a friend of mine who is in town on business.” The man was very careful not to spill any details; mentioning that a certain ‘Ced’ would kill him was probably the only decent information he was going to get. But Evelyn seemed willing enough to go with him as he led the child away.
“Thank you again, kind sir,” he stammered, looking back to Tristan one last time.
“Not a problem,” Tristan replied, waving as he did so. “Mind how you go now.”
“Oh trust me, this little one won’t be going out of my sight again.”
Hugo picked up Evelyn and hoisted her onto his shoulders, an eruption of laughter coming from the little girl as he steadied her there. Tristan watched after them as they headed back over the hill and out of sight. He stared after them awhile, laughing to himself as he thought about his own little girl somewhere out there. He wondered how long it would be before he remembered her but then, just to remember what he and Dagnen had named her was all he felt he needed right about now.
He turned around to head back to the city, but as he did so he noticed a woman standing behind him. He started, wondering where she had come. She was stood by the huge oak tree a little way away from him towards the edge of the graveyard, leaning against it as she stared up the hill after Hugo and Evelyn. Her pale face was forlorn and her green eyes weeping at the corner. She brushed away the tear, finding a strand of her wavy brown hair and twiddling it between two fingers. The tops of her hands were scarred, like Hugo’s were only this time he could make out a denser scar in the centre…the Keeper sigil. She pushed herself away from the tree, her attire becoming clear as a plain ivory dress flowed around her when she stepped out of the shadow of the tree. It was then she noticed Tristan was watching her and her green eyes met his as he noticed how transparent she seemed – it was like she wasn’t really there – but then how could that be so, he was staring right at her. As he stared into her eyes, he felt like somewhere in that greenness, he should know who she was…but why did he feel the sudden need to know who she was?
A slight smile touched her tinted red lips as she began to turn away and head into the corn rows. She was walking with a
sudden rush to her steps, almost as though she was inciting a chase and Tristan felt compelled to follow, a soft melody reaching his ears in her wake. He tried to stay close to her fading form as she weaved in and out of the long sheaves of corn, never quite catching up with her. Every now and then she would look back as if to make sure he was still following and every time she did, the melody in his head would get louder dragging him deeper into the chase. Just then though, she slipped out of sight and Tristan felt panicked as he lost sight of her, his pace quickening into a brisk run. He felt as though he should call to her but what name would he shout? As the melody dulled to a whisper, he felt his foot catch in something and he fell to the soft floor face up towards the brilliant blue cloudless sky.
His chest heaved as he tried to calm himself, letting his face fall to the side as he took in his surroundings. The corn rows stood tall around him leaving him in a clearing with trampled corn making his bed soft. Looking to the other side, he was met once more by those green eyes. A smile beamed upon his face as he felt relief in his heart that he was lying beside her. The happiness filled him with light, making the melody louder still as she smiled back at him. As the warm feeling filled his core, he felt suddenly as though he really did know her.
“Dags?” he asked her for confirmation and her smile only widened, as though she had been waiting years to hear him to call her that.
His smile widened too and he reached out to try and touch her face, his fingers slipping through the barrier that separated their worlds. The feel of her face did not meet his fingers, instead it was as though some force was making it impossible to touch her. So instead, he let his hand fall next to her face and stared into her eyes, finding a sense of peace and belonging. If he could just lay here forever, he would be happy, just lay here with her until the sun went down and all of eternity, just being by her side once again would always be enough for him.
~~~
The cold darkness hit me like a ball thrown at the wall in spite during a game of Switch. My brother and I used to play it as children in the streets with our friends. One of us would throw the ball at the wall and once it bounced, we had to switch places with one of the others so they could catch it when the ball bounced back off the wall. You used to say it was your favourite game brother and you used to say that you wished we could stay out long past bed time and play that game again and again. The way you would laugh when someone would miss the catch, the glee it bought you when we were young.
As the cold reaches every part of my body, I try to cling onto those memories of when we were young, playing ball games on the street. I had been concentrating so hard on those memories that I almost hadn’t realised the cold leaving my limbs to be replaced by a sudden warmth. They came to life once more, my arms dropping by my waist and my eyes opening at last. A new site welcomed me now, I was still in the Land of the Faded but I thought maybe a different realm. There was still a heavy layer of darkness around everything but I was no longer in a wasteland and as I looked up at the sky above, I noticed something, it was like there was a certain transparency to this world…making it breakable almost.
The Land of the Faded is for those forgotten by their Keeper brothers and here we stay until we are remembered. But sometimes our time runs out and that is when our brothers are lost to us forever. It’s not just us who are here though, there are others too, much worse than even the Faders. They were sent here purposefully, a banishment if you like, to seal them away from the surface world and to protect it from the evil deeds they either had committed or would eventually commit. Many a Keeper traitor lived down here with me in this world I had grown to call home. Most of the time when I saw them, I would hide in wait of their passing. They were a danger to me, just as I was to them, they were the Brothers of Dharsi and I was the Union that would help to destroy them all. Back when Father Talus struck a union between the two sects of Keepers, a new sect formed in Dharsi – ninety-nine brothers and sisters who disagreed with the union. They remained underground for a long time, biding their time until they were strong enough to make their move. But when they did, they were betrayed by one of their own who was also Unity. He betrayed his brothers in an effort to help the greater brotherhood of the Keeperage. The First Keeper at the time agreed to pardon him of any sin and treachery so long as he helped to rid the world of Dharsi before their plans spread beyond the Compound. He agreed and bought his brothers together, however their plan quickly crumbled as Dharsi crippled all but Unity. Only Union can destroy Dharsi but unless there is a complete generation, the power needed to defeat them could not be mustered and so the Keeper Council had no choice but to exile them to the Land of the Faded. They could not afford to wait another fifty years for a new Band of Brothers to be formed and accept their destiny.
So the Keeper Enforcers were enlisted, those bound entirely by Glyphs so much so their faces become crippled with markings. On a dark and stormy night, they dispelled the Brotherhood of Dharsi in their sleep. It was quick. It was painless. But it was not complete. Somehow, eight of them made it out and disappeared never to be seen again, that was to say until my generation. We never chose our destiny – it chose us before we had even initiated as Keeper Scribes. It chose us as the last of Union…the last chance the Keepers had to defeat Dharsi once and for all.
I remember how you had been so ambitious to take up our destiny. Me, I was rather the opposite; cautious and calm as the wind but then some things never change. That cautious and fearful nature had faded away in this Land I now called home and it was replaced by a need to survive, a cunning that was bent on escaping this world whether you remembered me or not. I was determined not to let this home be a permanent residence.
I looked around at this new bare land I seemed to be in, but as I stared tinges of colour tainted the darkness and buildings rose up around me. They formed a street I recognised with stalls all around – the Exotic Market was in town and passing through me like ghosts were people bustling through the streets. But of course, I was the real ghost that no one could see, not even you brother as you too pass straight through me without even looking back or batting an eye lid. Biting my lip, I became confused as to what was going on. Why was I here? Had I been concentrating so hard on my memories that I was still in them, and if so, what memory was this? I may remember the streets but they have aged since I was here last and the town seemed lost like a child who has lost its parent in the crowd. The panic kicks in as they shout relentlessly for their parent to return. But in this case, it didn’t look like the parent could hear, not that they cared. They weren’t coming back so the child remains lost trying to pick up the pieces left of their life and move on without the parent, alone in a world that cares not for a scruffy looking child.
It is then that I realise where and when exactly I am. It had been common legend that there were two realms to the Land of the Faded. There was the realm I had not long left filled with dying trees, darkness and dense shadows. Then there was this other realm that lay over the surface world, this realm was known as the Land of the Greater Faded and it was filled with flecks of colour and life. But I think it is more painful than the realm I have just left because it is filled with people I love, people who I can see but cannot see me.
I watch you brother as you pass through the gates of the city and up towards the old church on the hill. In my time, it and been a Hammerite parish but now it seemed the Hammers had left the city. The red banners that draped either side of the huge oak doors had been replaced by a white washed wall and the chanting mumbles of the priests was now replaced by the high-pitched hymns of child choirs. I see you enter the church, almost reluctantly, as though you feel you must. I choose to wait outside – the church was not a place for Keepers; we weren’t a very religious fold and preferred to stay out of the mechanisms of the city life and only intervene when necessary. You looked so different now brother, that carefree spring in your step was gone and replaced by a timid march. The spark in your eyes that had wrinkled when you were happy
was forever gone, but I hoped that was not the case.
The time passed slowly in this world and I began to marvel at the sun, its brilliance shielded by the shadow of this world but amazing all the same. It was certainly a feature I had missed in my time away. It is then that I begin to wonder why exactly you had come here. You had never cared much for religion or worship. You said like the Keepers, your religion was simple – there was no need for temples or churches, no need for complicated philosophy. Your own brain, your own heart was your temple and your philosophy was the good will of good men. I tried to think about what today might have been, but all capacity of time had escaped me and I didn’t even know how long I had been gone, let alone the day I had returned on.
After a while you emerge from the huge oak doors and I follow you down the hill towards a gravestone on the edge of the yard by a large overhanging tree. The tree strikes me as odd, not just because of the life that seeped through it but because of its sudden relevance to the location. I remember stories told to us about how our father had strung up a swing to this tree when they first moved here to begin their new life. Back then, there was no church, no headstones, just the tree in the middle of a field and our parents laughing and smiling around a swing strung onto it. Today was the day she had died all those years ago and it all seemed so distant to me now, like the world I had returned from had made me numb to any emotion I should feel. As I look away from where you are kneeling, I notice someone standing by the tree leaning on it slightly. I take a few steps closer and realise it is a woman. She is watching you intently, her eyes focused solely on you. I take a few more steps towards where she is standing, thinking that she must be like me - Greater Faded. I wonder if she can see me like I can see her but she appears not to notice me as I come to stand next to her. I look her up, taking in the creamy tinges to her dress, the red flush in her cheeks, the brown locks of her hair and the greenness of her eyes. As I take in the features of her face, I begin to recognise them but I cannot seem to place a name to the face. I stare deeper into her eyes, searching for an answer and then it hits me. How could I have been so blind? Why did I not see it as soon as I saw her? It was her; my brother’s beautiful sweet smile, your rosy cheeked maiden that made you strong and ignited a fire deep within your being. She was yours and you were hers as the saying goes; the one you would gladly lay down your life for. But then there was no need for you to do that because she had done that for you. So why was she here?