The Keeper of Tales

by Jonathon Mast

  Finally, they came to Fahalla, Yolian’s homeland, where many waters broke thick trees into islands in quickly flowing streams. The elves here heeded his words and spoke to the trees of height and strength of roots. The branches reached up to the sky, higher, higher, to a place where they hoped they might be safe. By the time the two friends departed on their great griffin, the trees seemed higher than any tower ever built by man.

  Korah and Jayan both rode as fast as they could. No griffin had ever known the brave Spireman Korah, but this man needed no such mount. Even now he drove his horse hard, pausing to rest only when needed. Father and son moved as swiftly as a blizzard wind, cutting through the lands as cold will slice through even the thickest furs. They rode ahead of the armies to ready the Spires for those that would be arriving soon.

  Soon they came to the Spires, those mighty, ancient towers that rose suddenly from the plains in the far north. They never felt warmth on the outside, but they were always roaring with the heat of friendship and ale on the inside. Jayan ordered his men to prepare for when their Northerner neighbors arrived, to make ready as many rooms as they could. Hunters were sent out to slay whatever animals they could for food, and they prepared for the hardest winter they had ever seen, preparing to be isolated in the Spires for a long time.

  Jayan and Korah embraced, and Korah turned to leave on his great mount. Jayan grabbed him and held him again, and he sucked in a mighty breath. When Korah pulled away, the king turned quickly and strode back into the Spire.

  Korah rode south.

  Last, I saw Chariis, desolate. Goblins had torn down memorials. All that remained of the Library was a burned arch. The Sargon’s Colonnade had fallen, its benches covered in ashes. A Kaerun stood in the Colonnade, its face toward the sky. It seemed to be searching, confused. It heard whispers in the air. It knew that something was happening, but it could not be certain of what.

  A behemoth approached from behind, bowing low. “We have found the armies.”

  The whisper came from the Blue Rider. “Speak.”

  “They’ve separated and gone back to their nations, but every nation seems to be on the move. People are fleeing to the hills.”

  The Kaerun did not respond at first. Then it seemed to let out its breath. “So, we must once again go to the Gates. This time, we will not be swept away.”

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  On the dawn of the fifth day of our flight, I awoke as Kae’A cawed a cheer. “We are almost there, noble Adal!”

  I peered over his shoulder, squinting my eyes against the frigid wind. Once again Raumioch Beti loomed before us. The edge of sunlight touched the teeth.

  Now I would address the creature that was the key, the only way to reach the Floodgates below. The one creature that was not bounded by a single locality.

  We approached a familiar tooth. As we drew nearer, I saw a campfire on it, and a man attending it. Kae’A landed, and I was surprised at who I found there.

  Sargon Tor rose to greet me. “Donara kis, King of the North, Keeper of Tales.” His hands were lowered and offered palm up.

  I answered automatically, “Saynam votara, Sargon Tor, Lord of Chariis.” The words flowed from me as they had many times before. I spoke the last without any thought, though I realized after the words had left my lips how wrong they were now.

  The Sargon.

  And then it clicked into place: I was not this age’s Keeper of Tales.

  Tor was.

  Garethen had been a Keeper of Tales long ago, before the last Deluge. But I had only been given the title a few short weeks ago. Tor had been the one looking after the tales all this time, from the last Deluge until now. He was the Keeper of this age. Which also meant he was the one who was fated to be the next Fallen Lord, not me. Or at least, that was the pattern. He was here to release the Floodgates with me, to take the blame so I wouldn’t, so the world would turn against him and not against me.

  But if the waters washed away every story, then Tor would be free as well. As long as I, as the Keeper, would keep others from telling stories of Tor as the Fallen Lord.

  A sad smile touched the Sargon’s lips. “Sargon no longer, young one. That is now your title. You will gather many as you age.” His eyes looked past me and to the east, back to the remains of the Fabled City. “Though I fear that you will never be Lord of Chariis.” He shook his head. “All things pass.”

  “Tor, why are you here?”

  His focus came back to me. “I am here because I must be here. It is time for one age to end and the next to begin. You will need my help if you are to pass through to where we need to go.”

  “You don’t need to be here. I’m glad to be with you. You watched over the nations for so long as Sargon. But the old pattern can be broken.”

  “I was there the last time it happened, though I was younger than you are now.” The last phrase trailed off as he remembered. “I know what must be done now that the Kaerun have returned.” He turned his face to mine. “Are you prepared to pay that price?”

  I nodded. “I am. But you do not have to.”

  He shook his head again. “Enough, Keeper of Tales of the Next Age. I know what must happen. We must go.”

  Fine then. He thought he knew the ending.

  Then again, I thought I knew the ending, too. I thought I would die here. I thought all my companions would pay the price to rescue this world. Maybe, hopefully, we were both very wrong.

  I turned to Badron. “Come and rescue us if we need it. Otherwise, you know the plan.”

  The white goblin grinned. “Yes.”

  Tor nodded. “Then let us begin our journey together.” We turned toward the grove of trees and walked around a short distance until we stood before the tunnel in the tightly-knit branches. This was it. The second we walked into this tunnel, our course would be carved in stone.

  We stepped into the stand, through the tunnel of branches and thistles, until we came into a clearing.

  The silvertip bear still hung in the tree. The pile of leaves and refuse in the center of the clearing was still there as well. It was still cold. The light here was just as it had been when I first found it so long ago, the moon shining through bare branches. Perhaps that was part of the magic of an unstoried place. It never changed, not even from night to day.

  And there was the beast. It was smaller now, but still had that hunched form. Its eyes shone in the pale light as it saw us. I heard a rumbling growl. “So, those story-killers convinced you, did they? Get out while you yet have legs to stand on.” The tone was final. The beast stood from its crouched position, claws extended, ready to attack.

  Tor spoke before I could even open my mouth. He had reassumed his formal, ringing tone, almost poetic in its pacing. “Child of Adareth, your time has come again. We call upon you once more. You are bound by oaths of ages past to stand beside us at world’s end.”

  The growl increased, holding over between words as the creature responded. “You held my oath fulfilled when last we spoke, Tor Veneka, friend of dark and light.”

  I spoke so quickly I nearly interrupted the creature, but I did not want Tor to ruin this. He was relying on things of the past, trying to repeat an old story. I knew we were in a new one. “You care little for men, but help us now. Your children will be returned to you.” The only thing this creature cared about.

  “My children?” The beast shifted its focus to me, stalking a step closer.

  The words poured from me. “In the last Deluge, Garethen saved your children by raising up Raumioch Beti, the mountains upon which we stand. Every goblin family was indebted to him, their lives bound in service to him for that. Garethen has been destroyed, but the binding has been passed to those who would destroy all the world. But now, there is a chance for your children to be returned to you. If we destroy the Kaerun. If you help us wash them away as they were before.”

  The creature considered. “Then, all the times you have come, they were not to bind me to a tale so the blue flames could
devour me?”

  “No. We long to destroy them.” I paused for a breath and then laid out our plea. “Take us to the Floodgates. Take us to the place where we may let loose the floodwaters. We know that only you can take us there, in this unstoried place, this location that has no home. And once we have done our work, bring us back here. Once this is done, you have my pledge that I will not bind your kin again. You have my oath that I will see to it that no creature ever binds goblins in ties of fealty again.”

  I felt Tor’s eyes upon me. He still thought of the patterns of the old tales. He could not fathom the goblins released.

  It was time for a new tale.

  Tor did not approve. It mattered little. The only one who mattered now was this ancient creature, one that had outlived countless ages by being ageless, that had avoided all contact with others, afraid they would bind it into a tale. This thing that was void of anything predictable. But I gambled that it still had some ties to its children. I knew that the goblins themselves still had a loyalty to it; I had seen many of them detour on their way to invasion just to see it. I hoped, I prayed, that it had some loyalty to them as well.

  “They, they would be free then?”

  “Yes.”

  “But they are still bound by your tales.”

  “As before, the waters will destroy all tales: ones that walk and breathe, like the Kaerun, and ones that reside in homes and halls and open fields. The only stories that would survive are those tales within the hearts of men and dwarves and elves.”

  The growling abated. “If we remove ourselves, even those tales will die.”

  I nodded. “As harvests pass.”

  “Go the way you came. I will wait for you.” It crouched low again, still swathed in the twilight of this place.

  I started to speak again, but Tor put his hand on my shoulder, pulling slightly. I turned and followed him out the tunnel.

  We stepped out into total darkness. Tor spoke a globe of light into being, illuminating the cavern about us. I saw a censer near us, filled with oil. I struck flint and iron over it. The fire brightened a small portion of the great stone cavern. The creature had brought us here as I had begged.

  We were at the Floodgates.

  Chapter Ninety

  We stood on a rocky shore, but the great lake before us was made of black glass. It, like the ceiling above, stretched farther than the light could reach.

  In the distance on the glassy surface lay a crumpled form that appeared to be a man. I peered into the darkness, trying to identify it. I took a single step, and then another, so that I was on the very threshold of the obsidian substance. I started to take another, but Tor’s hand restrained me.

  “It is who you believe it to be. Cerulean fell from a great height to meet her end here, where the rays of the sun have never pierced. But we must not set foot upon the firmament until it is time.”

  I turned to Tor. “But if Cerulean is here…”

  In answer, a blue fire lit far out on the glassy sea. The Kaerun that had fallen into the pit with Cerulean had survived. No fall could ever destroy a story, even one that walked as a man. It was so far distant I could barely make it out, but I knew it was venturing toward us.

  Then the vision arrived.

  Griffins circled high above the Sargon’s Colonnade. Each bore at least one warrior. They called out greetings, loud cries that sounded like eagles. Those borne by the mighty steeds waved at each other.

  Ka’Keneh, the one-eyed griffin that bore Yolian and Abani, dove first, through layers of clouds and smoke and ash until it alighted on the Colonnade. As soon as its riders dismounted, it charged the cliff and soared aloft again.

  Next, fierce Eh’Kanah dove, and Korah leaped off. The dwarf’s mount had spied Korah riding hard far below as they flew back to the once-Fabled City and had offered a nobler and faster ride. Korah had accepted and dismissed his horse back to its ancestral lands. Now the Spireman aided the dwarf in dismounting.

  Lazul had a metal stilt extending from the stub of his leg, forged by his kinsmen in Jaed. Dwarven spellcasters had told the story of how metal and living tissue could fuse, so that a body may again have a limb that had once been lost. He was steady on his new leg, and he boasted that this one could never be affected by too much ale. Karen Cordolis told him to stop being such a man about it.

  Kerek alighted next. Galatea patted the griffin. They chuckled before she turned to take her place beside Korah. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Finally, Kereh’Kah dove, and Daragen leaped off his mount.

  All the companions went to the stair, the only entrance to the Colonnade. They knew what must be done. Already, screams of rage could be heard in the city below. The Kaerun might have flown to other places, but they had left behind a force to hold the city. All had seen where the griffins had landed. The companions had to hold the stairs.

  Only Yolian stayed in the once-noble Colonnade. He held his hands out, closed his eyes, and called aloud. He did not speak in elven, but in the common tongue shared by all races. “Hear me now, children of the earth. Hear the tale of what has come. Listen to what is transpiring among you, and tremble. Hear now the words of the Second Deluge that saved the world from darkness.”

  The stairs trembled under armored feet. Abani’s blade appeared and vanished several times as she awaited the charge. Daragen cracked his knuckles. Korah held his great harpoon as if bracing against a charging horse. Galatea readied her now-refilled bulbs. Lazul tapped the shaft of his axe against the stone stair as he waited for his first foe.

  The vision lifted, and once again I peered at the approaching blue flames. So this was to be the way of things. I would see what happened here as well as what happened in Chariis. The stories truly had returned to me. Good. I was their Keeper, after all. And this would be the most important story. The last of the previous age, and the first of the next.

  If there was to be a next age.

  “Tor, we must open the Floodgates. We need to begin the story.”

  “Yes.” He knelt at the glass’s edge, arms out, palms upward, his eyes closed. “Hear the words I speak. A great darkness has fallen.”

  At that moment, high above us, the sky seemed to belch tongues of blue flame that grew as they fell to the ground. At last, they struck the smooth sea in sapphire puffs that resolved into the shapes of men. The Kaerun, all of them, had arrived, their mounts left behind. They turned, searching the shores, until they found us. They began marching.

  Tor did not register their arrival, but I drew Northwind. If I could delay them, that would be enough.

  Tor’s ringing voice continued. “A force threatens to destroy all those who speak stories ancient and new. They wish to cleanse the world of everything spoken, and then all those who speak. They would leave the world silent, with no songs praising any above. They would cut out the hearts of men, who harvest the land for grain. They would destroy the laughter of dwarves, who mine the depths below. They would shatter the thoughts of elves, who long for things above.”

  Far away, Yolian continued. “They threaten all the world, but there is one way to stop them. And that is to destroy the world, to wipe it clean. And so, the many races gathered their people far away, secreting themselves in high mountain strongholds, in Spires or tall trees, or by sealing themselves away in caverns with walls thicker than mountains. They would be safe from the waters that would come.”

  Here, all seven Kaerun strode toward us. One opened its mouth and let forth a tale. “The first Deluge destroyed the earth, drowning all in its path. It killed countless innocents. Children of men, elves, and dwarves, broods of white goblins, all of them dead because of the waters. So many corpses lay rotting after the Deluge receded that those who survived cursed themselves, saying it would have been better to have perished than live in a dying land.” The words, golden with black edges, snaked their way toward me, but I closed my heart to them. “Is this the world you would have, Keeper of Tales? Would you cause so much devastation? Woul
d you bring about an end of the world?”

  No. That’s not what I wanted. But it’s what I would have created if I’d had my wish and started over my own way. I had wanted to destroy the stories that talked about how noble it was to sacrifice yourself for something greater. I had wanted to destroy any story that brought pain. But that pain was necessary. It taught us to value life.

  And now, some pain was necessary. Sacrifice was necessary again. We must do whatever it took to destroy the Kaerun. Nothing would destroy them but the waters of creation.

  Northwind reflected the blue flames as I stepped out onto the glass. Now was the time. I knew it. Tor had begun the tale, and the great darkness directly threatened him. He needed a protector. I came between him and the Kaerun, sword at the ready. Now was the time to stand defiant. Now was the time for sacrifice.

  So the stories speak. I hoped they would tell my tale true.

  The goblins arrived on the stairs. Abani leaped down, slaying the first few that charged. She dove below others, letting them pass, before striking again. She spun once, twice, and with each turn another body fell.

  Lazul cried in triumph as he finally saw them coming, and he charged as well. He met them as a stone that breaks a wave. His face wore a clenched smile; the corners of his eyes creased with joy. He had fallen fighting a useless battle before; he would not sacrifice himself in vain this time.

  Daragen was next in line, and his daggers made fast work of any goblins that reached him. He slashed rapidly, darting like a fish here and there.

  Korah and Galatea waited patiently. He slew any goblins that reached him, and she lit those that escaped Korah’s harpoon.

  Soon the stairs were slick with goblin blood. Not a single companion had even been cut yet.

  On the other side of the Colonnade, overlooking the ruined city, goblins swarmed up the cliffs. The griffins raked the stony face, knocking off all that climbed there. They circled many times, not letting any goblins reach the top where Yolian spoke his tale.