Destiny (The Keeper's Trilogy Book 1)

by Olivia Ali

  Tristan hid himself by the wall, closing his eyes to what was going on around him. He could hear his brothers shouting to him, alerting him that it was time but he could not move. He was rooted to the spot; but not out of fear or unwillingness but because he needed to block out the Eye. If one ounce of his mind was not focused on the task at hand, all would be lost.

  “Tell me, did your brethren cry when I chose you? Did they warn you what I would do?”

  He was talking about Jacques. A little over a year ago they had stolen The Eye from the Cathedral to save the rest of the Keepers. Back then, his brother was the only one who could hear it, the only one who could touch it. Or at least that’s what they thought, only it spoke to Tristan too; prayed on his unspoken fears and tried to manipulate him against his brothers. Now, it only spoke to Tristan, and that made Jacques and the others nervous, like they thought he could be swayed, that Tristan could betray.

  “I suppose they thought I would destroy you…and them. I suppose they were right though; I would destroy you all!”

  Tristan could hear it laughing at him, mocking his resolve and pitiful attempts at blocking him out. Taking another set of deep breaths, he opened his eyes to the world around him once more, noticing one of his brothers lying on the floor in front of him. It was Cedric; his eyes wide open as though he were dead. Suddenly The Eye was silent again as he ran towards his fallen brother, immediately checking for a pulse. It was there, but it was fading fast. He had to act quickly.

  “Cry Brethren Cry for the betrayer hath cometh!” The Eye chanted, its voice no more than a whisper in the back of his mind. “I will cripple your hands with my wretched and ancient hands.” He rose, ignoring the voice that rang in his head and darting between the flying pieces of rubble that spun around where Fina stood. “I will spawn a child of ignorance bred from you by fear and anger and with his birth will come the beginning of a Third Dawn and the coming of the Unwritten Times.” Tristan recited along with The Eye now, as though he was possessed. But he knew what he was doing, he had to convince it that he would do its biding in order to manipulate it into doing his. “Here cometh the Bleak Unwritten. By my hands his reaping be done! The betrayer hath cometh, and with my words and his wrath the Glyphs will unwind and you will all perish as fools.”

  He had let himself get too carried away; now the Eye really was in control as the rocks rebounded off an invisible shield, crashing into walls. His eyes sparkled as Tristan strode forward in an unnatural way, arms reaching for The Eye as he bent at the foot of the City Square fountain. Where he knelt was a niche in a hexagonal shape where The Eye would fit perfectly; returned to its former place of glory. Placing The Eye into the slot he turned it left, right then left again, pushing it in deeper still. Light beamed from it and Tristan rose to his feet, unable to snap out of his trance. It was like his eyes were a glass and he was watching himself. Banging on the glass, screaming for him to stop, to do anything but listen to The Eye.

  “Tristan!”

  Somewhere out there a woman screamed his name. It was a voice is self-conscious recognised and cried out for him to notice. As she screamed again, it screeched of something different. Rather than fear, this time it was pain. This time he heard it…

  “Tristan!”

  Immediately, he turned in time to see Dagnen get struck by a bolt of red light. Holding out his arms he only just caught her as she collapsed in his arms. Cradling her head in his arms, Tristan looked up briefly in the direction of the bolt, seeing a flash of red in an alleyway just off from where his brothers fought against their foe. It can’t have been Fina. But who? Tearing himself back to his love, he stared down at her pale face with those striking green eyes the only ounce of life left within her. In that moment, life seemed to stop, slow down to an almost unnoticeable pace. He could feel hot tears bleeding from his eyes and staining her pale face as she tried to say something that seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

  “What?” Tristan asked, willing her to stay with him as more tears spilt.

  “I love you!” she croaked, her eyes wincing as the pain of the bolt sunk in. Tristan looked down to her midriff, seeing blood form on the ivory night gown. What the hell was she doing here? She should’ve been back at the inn with their daughter. “Take care of our…”

  Those last words were such a struggle for her and she choked as she blurted them out, more blood escaping from the side of her mouth. He knew she was dying. But he didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t lose her, not now, not ever.

  “Dagnen…please…please. Stay with me!” He begged her, willing for her to take hold of what life she had left and prolong it somehow. But destiny had other ideas! And how he hated her for it. “Dags?” she managed a smile as he felt her body shiver in his arms, as though the last bits of her life were escaping through her breath, sending her body into uncontrollable spasms. The smile faded and her head lolled to the side; lifeless.

  They say in the moments before your death everything is silent. But what they don’t say is that it is also silent for those around the person that has died; those who are closest to them. Even their own voice they cannot hear. It’s like they are so overcome with that one emotion that everything else just goes out of action. That’s what shock feels like. Like even you have died alongside your loved one. It is only once you dare to look away from the face of your love, or go to close their eyes that life comes crashing back to you. The sounds deafen, leaving a ringing in your ears. As the tears fall heavier the vision blurs and you cry so much that you can barely breathe, coughing and spluttering as the realisation kicks in. You look around and people seem not to notice, not to care; they just continue on with their own mundane lives like no one matters at all.

  As the tears began to stop, his grief was replaced by anger; hot boiling anger for whoever it was that took his love away from him. He looked up, just in time to see another of his brothers fall to the floor, his eyes remaining open just as Cedric’s had. And as all life came swimming back to him in full speed, he realised he had to do something.

  “Cry Brethren Cry!” the voice of The Eye was back. “For your Betrayer hath cometh.”

  What happened next happened so fast he didn’t even stop and think first. Tristan was just so full of rage and hatred that he could barely contain himself. A hammer lay beside him – it was all he could see through the sudden rain that beat down and all he could hear was the voice of The Eye. He let Dagnen slip gently from his arms, closing her eyes over and kissing his fingers before placing them upon her forehead. In a single swift movement, he picked up the hammer and swung it at the Eye, closing his eyes as it smashed into a thousand shards, all breaking further as they hit the cobblestoned floor.

  With the voice of The Eye finally gone from his mind, Tristan’s knees buckled and he crashed to the floor, falling beside Dagnen’s lifeless body. The rebounds of the smash reverberated all around him. But he didn’t see the effects that it had on the rest of his brothers, what it did to Fina as she lost her source of power. All he could focus on was Dagnen who lay beside him safe on the side of death and there he lay in life, no more tears left to cry.

  Chapter 16 – Evelyn

  Tristan woke with a start. His breathing came in gasps as he struggled to balance himself on the couch and tumbled onto the floor in a spluttering mess. Merlin knelt suddenly by his side and helped him back up, leaving him to calm down as he went to fetch some water from the kitchen pump. Once Merlin had turned his back, Tristan felt a burning sensation on his left hand, staring in disbelief as another mark crawled beneath his skin. Feeling a knot build up in his throat, he threw himself out into the backyard and spurted the contents of his stomach onto the dry grass. Lowering himself onto a wooden bench Balderick had made for his children when they were young, he took some deep breaths trying desperately to calm himself. All that was going through his head were those last words Dagnen had said to him. The memory had been so clear except for that last word. Try though he might, he could not finish the sentence.r />
  “Take care of our…” echoed over and over again, making his head seer with pangs of pain.

  He could hear footsteps on the cobblestones behind him, but they weren’t confident footsteps. They were heavy and clumsy as the feet scuffed along the floor.

  “I really hope you intend on cleaning that up!” said the voice of Balderick. “Not to mention fixing the wooden coffee table you’ve now brought to the ground…”

  “Coffee table?” Tristan questioned, looking up as the Knight Commander came to sit beside him.

  “Wow, your memory is short.”

  At once, Tristan looked to his right hand which had reached out as he fell from the couch. On his palm were scratches, a couple with splinters sticking out of them and his tunic was torn up his arm. As he fell from the couch, he must have launched himself onto the coffee table without even realising in his state of shock.

  “I wasn’t even aware that I…” stammered to Tristan.

  “It’s okay, it was on its last legs anyway…” Balderick sniggered to himself. “Get it…last legs…”

  “I get it Balderick it’s just a bad joke!” Tristan managed a laugh.

  “Well in that case, I’ll go wake the children up.” Balderick rose to his feet and made his way towards the door back into the house. “At least they appreciate my humour!”

  Tristan buried his head in his hands as Balderick disappeared back into the house. The words of Dagnen still echoed in his mind – it was like there was a mental block over that last word…or maybe it was a name…

  “Here, drink this.”

  He looked up again, only this time it was Merlin who was sat beside him, a concerned look upon his face. He handed the young Keeper a glass of water and he took it. Merlin took note of the strained look on his face – it was a look he had seen him pull often in the last three years in their sessions together as he struggled to remember his past.

  “What is it you’re struggling with my boy?” Merlin asked, leaning back slightly. “Perhaps if you go through it out loud it will come back to you.”

  “I remembered her death Merlin,” he croaked.

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to see that all again.”

  “I remembered everything…that is to say everything except her last words to me. It’s like I just can’t remember the last bit.”

  “What does she say?”

  “Take care of our…” he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind a focus on the memory and only the memory, just as Merlin had taught him. “Take care of what...”

  “Think about what she might be talking about. Of all the things she was leaving behind, what would she want you to take care of?”

  “I guess…” as he thought about what to say a whisper replaced the words spiralling round in his mind. The whisper belonged to a woman and it motioned the same word over and over again. “Evelyn…” Merlin smiled at the sound of her name. “Evelyn…my daughter’s name was Evelyn.”

  He smiled to himself, proud that he had finally remembered something of the daughter he didn’t even know. But that smile was soon replaced by a look of anger. He wasn’t sure who he should be directing that anger at but for now it was on Hugo, the man he had seen at his mother’s graveside with the young girl he had been looking after for a friend. The girl had been called Evelyn.

  “Tristan, what’s wrong?” The look of concern appeared once again on his old face.

  Tristan hastened to his feet and made his way back into the house, Merlin shouting after him. He rushed into the sitting room and reached for the box he had retrieved from his house. Slamming it onto the table, he opened the lid, rooting around the pile of pictures. Merlin appeared behind him, watching the chaos of his crazed memories open up as he sifted through picture after picture. Finally, he found the one he was looking for and stared at it, turning back to Merlin and thrusting it into his hands.

  “Tell me who is in the picture!” he demanded, the look on his face unreadable.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Merlin took a seat back at the table and placed the picture on the table, nodding for Tristan to take a seat. Tristan scrunched up his face, almost as if he was angry at Merlin for not making it easy for him. But then what did he expect from the old man. “Come on! Take a seat and tell me who is in the picture and then maybe we can find out who you are so angry at.”

  Tristan took a deep breath, his face relaxing as he decided it was probably best that he did as the storyteller said. He sighed heavily, slumping into one of the vacant chairs at the table and picking up the picture, staring blankly at it. The picture depicted a crowd of people, all stood in lines. They all beamed with smiles, with older people stood on either side. The younger faces belonged to the Scribes and the older the teachers. Immediately, he spotted his own face surrounded by his brothers both by blood and choice. As he stared for longer, his eyes lingered on a face in the bottom row, the eight brothers of which were seated on wooden chairs. His attention was drawn to the third from the left, a scrawny looking boy with freckles on either side of his abnormally large nose. The colour of them was a little lighter than his hair which sprawled in a mess on the top of his head. Put a few years on him he could easily be Hugo just without the freckles.

  “This man here,” Tristan pointed to the boy he believed to be Hugo. “Did I know him?”

  Merlin sighed, staring at the picture and the man Tristan had pointed to. Merlin himself had initiated him all those years ago, he had initiated them all.

  “You knew of him yes,” Merlin explained. “He was in the room next to you and your brothers. He shared with the boys either side of him; Cedric and Percy. Also in the room was Trevor.”

  “What was his name?”

  “I think you already know! What about him anyway?”

  “Because he was here…and he had my daughter with him.”

  “Impossible!”

  “I saw him just yesterday when I went to see my mother’s grave. There was this little girl and this man calling the same name over and over again. I can’t believe that I had my daughter right in front of me and I didn’t even know.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because, Hugo mentioned that Ced would kill him if he lost the child he called Evelyn.”

  “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring her here though.”

  “Maybe I was never meant to see her…I’ll kill him for this. Whatever his reasoning for keeping my daughter away from me it’s not a good one.”

  “I’m telling you now, you’re not the only one who wants some answers.” A moment of silence passed between the pair. “What did she look like? Evelyn, I mean.”

  “She was so small, how old would she be now…three? She had these really messy locks of blonde hair and these striking green eyes…just like Dags. How could I not have known…what kind of father does that make me?”

  “Tristan none of this is your fault, you weren’t to know.”

  “I’m going to find them though…and Dante is going to help me.”

  “Dante?” Merlin’s look was the one that was unreadable now, it was like he was confused as to how Dante was supposed to help him.

  “It’s a long story but basically he’s here to help me remember. It’s his destiny! He’s going to take me to Dilu where I became a Keeper Scribe. He thinks that going to a place that was important to me once will help…in a physical way.”

  “It’s a good theory, but why would he want to help you?”

  “Like I said; it’s his destiny…you should come Merlin...”

  “What…no I’m far too old for another adventure.”

  “But there’s no one here who knows more about my past than you do. At least if you’re there, you can help me with anything I don’t understand. Please Merlin, please come with us?” Merlin let out a big sigh.

  “I suppose at least if I do come, I can keep an eye on Dante.”

  “You know him?”

  “Like you said earlier; long story. Alright,
I’ll come on one condition…you make things right with your father.” Tristan looked away. “I’m not saying forgive him, but hear him out at least. He is your father after all! Don’t leave things like this though, you’ll regret it forever if something happens.”

  “So if I at least hear him out, you’ll come?”

  “I will yes, but don’t pretend because trust me I will know whether or not you have seen him.”

  “Alright I’ll do it!”

  “Good lad, now I best be off. Things to do, people to see and all that gubbins. When do we leave for Dilu?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, you could’ve given me more warning lad.”

  He shook his head playfully, wondering out the front door and into the quiet morning streets of the village. Tristan could hear the children waking upstairs; Tessa’s high-pitched voice echoing off the floor boards and making his ears ring once more. Deciding he wasn’t quite in the right mind-set to deal with an eleven-year-old and an eight-year-old, he readied himself to leave, pausing for a moment as he rose to his feet and packed away the box once more. Perhaps I should sort out that table first, he thought to himself.