by Olivia Ali
"I was beginning to think you would not come!" The man observed, looking down on Tristan through slitted eyes. "Tell me, does the destruction enthral you?" His voice was well pronounced and had an air of greatness to it, as though a great many men respected him.
"You son of a bitch!" Tristan heard himself say, standing tall and strong against his foe.
"You'll never win Charles, not whilst Union stands strong."
"But alas, Romeo is dead so Union is broken. How are you supposed to take Dharsi down without your fellow Brothers?"
"And for that you will pay!"
Tristan launched himself forward, striking his sword in Charles' direction who parried the blow pulling his own sword out of nowhere. A series of blows followed, sparks flying as metal clashed with metal, neither seeming to gain the upper hand. It was clear to see neither were good swordsmen but they were trying none the less. But Tristan wasn't exactly your conventional fighter and finding his advantage he forced himself against Charles, pushing him up against the wall and causing him to lose the grip on his sword.
The rest of what happened seem to play out in slow motion in which Tristan watched himself gain the upper hand, throwing Charles to the floor and standing over him, his sword poised high above his head ready to strike down into his heart. But if you think that Tristan is the winner here then that's where this story disappoints. You see in this story good does not always prevail for evil is just around the corner. Light will never beat dark, instead they face an endless chase in which neither will win. When Light gets to dark, it is already running, darkness is always out of reach and at the end of Light, Darkness envelopes all.
Tristan watched as he saw himself stop in mid strike, the look on his face turning to one of torment and pain. The grip on his sword relented and it fell to the ground, clanging as it landed. Tristan fell with it, something invisible striking him to the floor in a sprawled mess of tangled limps. His eyes didn't even close as he lost his fight with whatever struck him and Charles rose to stand over him. A darkened figure came to stand beside him. It wasn't darkened in the sense that there was no light to see him clearly, it was darkened as though the figure itself had been removed from his mind, erased almost. The most he could tell was a man, and a man that he felt was familiar. As the vision faded the last words of the men stuck in his mind, even the voice of this other man seemed blurry; unidentifiable almost.
"Took your time, didn't you?" Goaded Charles.
"So many things to do…so little time," the man said. "Patience, great father, is a virtue."
The words 'great father' stood out in Tristan's mind as he fell back into the bed in the dorms he was staying in. They weren't parental in the term, it was more like it was a title, an epithet that gave his name meaning. From what he remembered about Dharsi their leader was known as the Herasin or the father and if he was to take the figure's words literally it meant Charles was the father; the leader of Dharsi. What was also clear was that Charles was not the reason he did not remember. He may have been part of it but he wasn't the sole reason and perhaps that was why the figure was darkened. The darkened figure was who he had to remember for all of it to make sense, for all of it to come back.
Chapter 23 - Dancing in the Rain
Tristan awoke with a start, his heart thudding in his chest and his breathing coming in rasps. He calmed himself, taking in his surroundings. The room he found himself in was like the one in his dream only with a slightly different layout. Getting to his feet, he straightened up and headed for the door once he saw that no one else was there with him. He headed through the corridor and down the stairs back into the atrium. He wasn't sure where he was going, he was just following his feet just as he always seemed to do these days. Proceeding down the opposite corridor to the bottom he came to another room. Torches emblazoned the room he came to filled with books so alive they made every mahogany shelf sparkle and the parquet flooring shine. Of all the places within this Compound, the Library must have been the only place Nielson maintained over the years. Then again, what was a Keeper Scriberium without its books?
The library truly was a magnificent sight to behold. Even the scattered strewn books on the desks ahead of him seemed to have a purpose and place in their blankness. A staircase spiralled upwards, leading to three further floors filled with more books and desks of which to study them at. Stepping up to the table, he flicked through a couple of the pages, each displaying the same emptiness.
"They have become unwritten," sighed a voice. Tristan looked up to see its owner descend from the gleaming stairs above in the shape of Dante. "The worst fears the Keepers ever had took place right before their eyes. I can't imagine the fear they must have felt."
"I can't either," Tristan replied, his eyes still in awe of the library as though he were looking upon it for the first time.
"How are you feeling?"
"Good, just a little hazy."
"Shouldn't drink so much then!"
"Very funny!"
Pulling up a chair, Dante sat with the back facing forward so that he could rest his head on the top of his arms.
"What's the matter?" Tristan asked, taking note of his disheartened stance. Something was definitely bothering him but he wasn't sure what.
"What do you mean?" answered Dante, shrugging off the question. "Nothing’s wrong with me it's just..."
"Just what?"
"Tristan, I have to tell you something. Come take a seat."
Tristan took a seat on the opposite side of the table noting how Dante's face seemed to be fighting with his thoughts over something. Half of him suspected he knew what he was about to say but the other half was still doubtful and remained utterly clueless.
"Tristan I uh...there's something I've been meaning to tell you but I just could never find the words. I can't do that now to be honest..."
"Dante just say it!"
"Okay...it's about Dagnen...she's uh..."
"Your granddaughter?"
Dante was silent but his eyes were wide like a deer when it realises the hunter has found it hiding behind its bush.
"How did you know?" he said at last, his voice aghast.
"Nielson...he used to talk about you all the time. Well not you but this brother that he lost, he never actually used your name but that's not the point. When he found out who we were he told us that we had to be there for each other at all times. He said he'd learnt that the hard way, he let his brother down and lost him forever. He never gave us the details. Not to mention the fact that you and Dagnen, before she married me, both have the same last name and what with Nielson being her uncle."
"Clever!"
"Simple really."
"I guess so. So, it doesn't change anything then?"
"Well no! You're family aren't you technically...so it changes nothing? If anything, it gives you more of a reason to be on this journey with me."
"...thank you I guess..."
"Don't worry about it."
A moments silence passed.
"You should tell him...tell Nielson that you're not this idiot Daxon..."
"Idiot?"
"You tell me...I don't know anyone called Daxon."
The two shared a hearty chuckle and Dante seemed to relax for the first time since he'd met Tristan.
"He didn't even recognise me." Dante sighed as the moment passed.
"He did, I could see it in his eyes." Tristan reassured, tilting his head to one side.
"You reckon?"
As Tristan nodded, a loud bang erupted from outside of the library. Both of them jumped up from their seats and ran from the library to see what all the commotion was about. Rushing into the atrium, they saw a shadow tumbling over a chair which was now on its back on the floor. Bringing light into the room with a single flick of his fingers, Dante rounded on the intruder clutching at the knife that rested in his belt. Tristan followed behind a few paces, bracing himself. As the man looked up though he realised he had nothing to fear.
"Basso?" Tristan
exclaimed in disbelief.
"Tristan," He sounded in as much disbelief as Tristan in truth.
"What are you doing here?"
"I decided you were right; I should be here."
"John Basso!" exclaimed another voice as Merlin and Nielson came into the room.
"Nielson Ashdown my old friend."
Basso embraced him in a brotherly grasp the two laughing as they did so. Merlin greeted him in the same way, it was a greeting Dante would probably have been jealous of and wished it was the kind of greeting he had shared with his brother by blood. Tristan looked to him now to notice he had turned away from them, remorse coating his eyes in a fine liquid ready to leak. He nodded before making his way to the doors and out of the Compound.
Once the formalities were over, Basso turned to Tristan and shook his hand, smiling as he did so.
"Where’d your friend go?" he asked, Tristan turning to where Dante had been standing. "I swear he was just stood there."
"Oh, you mean Daxon," answered Tristan, trying to come up with something to say as to his whereabouts.
"Yes, where did Daxon go?" Asked Nielson, Merlin widening his eyes behind him. A look of concern tainted the suspicious look on Nielson's face, making Tristan believe he had an ulterior motive for wanting to know.
"He umm...he lost his brother recently," it was mostly true. "It's partly why he's here with me, to get some space."
"'tis a hard thing to lose a brother," Nielson consoled. "It is best just to leave him to it; he will come round eventually."
Tristan nodded, following Nielson as he let them all into the dining hall near the barracks. Hours later; long after Merlin and the others had finished catching up and decided to bed down for the night, Tristan had finally found Dante lurking in a public house near the fountain in the centre of town. Truth be told, it should've been the first place to look as opposed to the vast open spaces around town he had been searching. Dante, as expected was sat at the bar hunched over a full tankard of ale. A couple of other people were scattered around a table in the corner but it was nothing to warrant a second barman. The only barman in sight was a much older man who leant against the back wall next to the entrance to the cellar twiddling a piece of barley between his fingers.
The bar itself was a dingy affair, a shabby old thing that was probably quite cosy in its time but was now a place the poor people of this town had forgotten, hence why the only table of punters were city guards. In one corner of the room was a podium where metal stands stood which probably at one point or another held musical instruments of some sort. Just down from there was something covered in a large sheet coated in a thick layer of dust. He wasn't sure what was underneath it but it was probably nothing worth him worrying about. Something that was worrying him was how ghostly this public house seemed, it was like someone was trying to tell him something about this place but they were talking so loudly their echoes were reverberating off the wooden walls making it impossible for him to hear what they were saying. He came to sit beside Dante, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so.
"What'll it be my friend?" The barman offered, the piece of barley now hanging from his mouth.
"A beer please sir." Tristan requested, flipping a gold coin onto the table.
"Coming right up." The barman turned away down into the cellar. Obviously, a wheat beer wasn't something that was commonly ordered here.
"You okay?" he turned to Dante.
"I'm fine I just..." Dante sighed.
"Just what?"
"I just couldn't stand that Basso getting the greeting I should have. I told you he doesn't even recognise me! What did you tell them anyway?"
"Tell them?"
"You're telling me they didn't even notice I was gone?"
"Oh, Basso did and then Nielson asked where you'd gone. I told him you'd lost a brother recently...it’s kind of true I guess."
"Here we are, one wheat beer for ya!" exclaimed the barman, pouring some of a flagon into a tankard in front of Tristan. "Sorry about the wait, it don't get ordered as much here now there's no Keepers. In fact, you guys are the first Keepers I've seen in these here parts in over three years."
"Really?" questioned Dante, half wondering how he could tell they were Keepers.
"Well yeah! About three years ago there was this...uh…to be honest, I don't know what happened but they all disappeared and that Compound just crumbled. I mean there's probably still some of them there. I've seen those lights that come on at night in there every now and then."
"What do you think happened to them?"
"Oh, I don't know, I know what they tell the children here."
"What like ghost stories?"
"Precisely. You see, this here town is ruled by a Baron called Hagen..."
"Hagen?" Tristan questioned; the name sounded familiar to him but he couldn't figure out why.
"Yes! They say he is a Keeper but they say that he ain't a good one."
"So, he's a traitor?" Dante confirmed.
"So they say. Anyway, when the Keepers disappeared, he was all too quick to step up to the plate. Some folk said that he was the one that sent them all away with scary shadows that had no faces just these red beady eyes. Now if that don't sound scary, I don't know what does."
"So, this Baron, he's the reason this town has hit the shit?"
"Precisely, I mean you're new here my friend so you won't know but Tristan here..."
"What?" Tristan spurted, confused suddenly as to how the man knew who he was.
"You remember what this place was like surely. It was full of free spirits, fine wine and high-end fashion. Folk did what they wanted when they wanted. They enjoyed their jobs and they were happy. The Keepers dealt with all the political stuff and hey, that was life and it was bliss. The problem was, or is for that matter, that we've lived so long with the Keepers we've forgotten how to live without them. We've relied on them all these years and now we have to rely on ourselves. That's why folk left this here place...they left to find the Keepers."
"And did they?" asked Dante, taking a sip of his ale.
"They must've done, they never came back. Those that stayed here are those who have families too old to move. There are even some folk here that believe one day the Keepers will return to Dilu. I guess we were right!"
"Hey Frankie, any chance of some drinks around here?" shouted one of the guards at the table. "Any more waiting we'll have to serve ourselves!"
One of the other guards muttered something unheard to them but whatever it was it made the others laugh loudly. It was probably some snide remark of some sort. Frankie sighed heavily, apologising to Tristan and Dante as he poured some more drinks for the guards.
"Do you know him then?" Dante asked once Frankie was out of earshot.
"I don't know," Tristan said bemused. "I must do I just don't remember."
"Must do."
"Sorry about that gents, but I can't afford to turn away the custom." apologised Frankie as he came over to join them once again.
"It's okay, we understand." Dante consoled as he topped up their drinks.
"Frankie, could you tell me something?" Tristan asked.
"Of course, anything."
"This Hagen character, what's his propose for being here in Dilu? I mean why Dilu?"
"Well, some say what with him being a Keeper and all, that he was here before."
"Before?"
"You know when you were here as a Scribe. Going on nearly five, maybe six years now maybe more. I don't know if it is the same man but it could be."
"And where does he...rule this place from?" Dante asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"There's an estate with a tower just outside of town. He lives there with his lady and all his servants. God knows what they see in him. Then again, I hear he pays well and that's probably the reason they all stick around. I reckon if he died, they'd all just fade into the backdrop."
A man came to the bar and Frankie went over to him, their conversation just out
of earshot of Tristan and Dante. Tristan wasn't concerned with the other conversation though; he was concerned with whoever was arguing with themselves behind him. Looking behind him out of the corner of his eye, he saw no one except the guards at the table and they were nowhere near close enough to hear.