The Portal Keeper (The Keeper Chronicles Book 1)

by S. T. Sanchez

  The

  P rtal

  Keeper

  The Keeper Chronicles Book I

  S. T. SANCHEZ

  Text copyright © 2017 by Sarah T. Sanchez

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  Also by S. T. SANCHEZ

  The Keeper Chronicles

  The Portal Keeper

  The Sunwalker Trilogy

  Sunwalker

  Nightwalker coming 2018

  For my brothers

  Jason, Nicholas, Benjamin, and Zachary

  Thanks for letting me join in on the fun. From sock bomb wars to G.I. Joes to eating Chicken Murphy—so much more entertaining than dolls.

  Chapter I

  A nervous tingle ran down Ajax’s spine as he stood, mesmerized by the spinning darkness in front of him. It seemed surreal watching it silently swirling before his eyes. Nothing in two years of training had prepared him for this.

  It's not that he didn't believe his father or his teachers, but words hadn't adequately described the mystery he beheld. It was almost hypnotic, and seemed to be calling to him.

  He shook the feeling off, standing a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back, looking akin to a soldier from the King's guard. He took a quick step back, unaware that he had ventured so close. From his infancy, Ajax had been told stories about the portal, about his family's legacy, about their sacred responsibility. He was a Maxwell after all. And that meant something, or it had.

  But whispers of misplaced trust now swirled among the King’s council. It didn't matter how many generations of faithful Maxwells had held this post. A shadow had fallen over the family name. The kingdom only seemed to remember that fateful day two years prior.

  Ajax once again stared in awe of the mysterious form before him in the middle of a huge oak tree. The tree itself was so thick, it had to be at least a few hundred years old. Ajax doubted that he and his father could reach all the way around it if they grasped hands. It stretched high into the sky, a beacon in the woodland that lay behind the castle.

  Although the tree did look old, Ajax knew it was ancient. Other than containing the portal, there was something mystical about this tree. Leaves never fell from its branches, nor changed colors throughout the seasons. It never altered. An ax blade could not penetrate its trunk. Even the animals gave it a wide berth. No squirrels scampered up or down it, nor had any birds adorned the branches with their nests. It had remained the same since the days of Abenfeth Maxwell, the first Maxwell to stand watch over it more than four hundred and fifty years ago.

  In seven days’ time, the duty would shift from Edwin, his father, to himself. This was Ajax's first time to see the portal in person. There had been stories and paintings, some sketches made by his relatives, but he had never visited before. A shiver ran down his back as he beheld the dark, swirling vortex before him. Ajax glanced to the side where his father stood guarding the tree, cloak billowing in the breeze, silver sword in hand. Ajax hoped his father hadn't noticed his agitation.

  Truth be told, Ajax was nervous. He was consumed by fear. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. He wiped his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve. Two years was all the time he had been given to prepare—two years to train, two years to learn everything all of the other Maxwells had fourteen years to do. It felt so inadequate. He held his head high and tried to look brave, confident.

  His father lifted his gaze towards the sky. “It shall be dark in a moment.” He motioned him closer with a hand. “Stand here, son. It will happen soon.”

  Ajax took a deep breath and moved to stand beside Edwin.

  “Never depart your post until the portal closes,” his father cautioned as he placed a strong hand on Ajax’s shoulder.

  Ajax held his breath, afraid he might miss something. He watched intently. At first nothing happened. Then slowly as the sun slipped behind the horizon, the black waves stopped spinning and the vortex appeared to harden.

  “It is done,” Edwin said simply.

  The tree was utterly still. Ajax hesitantly took a step forward and slowly reached for the tree. When his father didn't stop him, Ajax placed his hand over the now motionless portal. He pulled his hand back at first, not knowing what to expect, then flattened it over the surface. It was hard, comparable to the rest of the trunk. If he had stumbled upon this tree now, not knowing what it was, he might have thought the black swirls were just something someone had painted on the bark.

  It felt different though, as if energy was permeating from beneath the surface. He moved his hand from the portal to the tree. It felt like any normal tree. He placed his hand back on the portal. There was something about it, something powerful, that made him feel cold all over. Although no one had ever mentioned the word, Ajax knew the truth. There was something mystical here.

  Magic was pretend, something trick jesters did to entertain. That was the only kind of enchantment people believed in. But now, standing in the portal's presence, Ajax realized there were conundrums in this world that couldn’t be explained. There was real power here, a force he knew nothing about. Whether it was present anywhere else in the world he didn't know, but it definitely existed here. He hastily removed his hand, wiped it on his pant leg, and turned back to his father.

  The wind began to pick up. A gust whipped around him rapidly, causing him to stumble and brace himself against the tree. A storm was rolling in—dark clouds billowed in the distance as lightning danced across the sky.

  “We should head home, son. Mother will begin to fret if we don't make it back before the rains begin.” His father bent down and picked up his lantern. He struck a match and lit the wick, and orange and yellow flames licked the sides of the glass.

  Ajax glanced at the portal one last time. It was dark now, and in the shadows the tree seemed every bit ordinary. He spun around and hurried to catch up with his father, who had already started home. Branches cracked beneath their feet as they stomped swiftly through the woods in their attempt to beat the storm home. It had been an especially dry summer, and now that fall was upon them, Ajax wondered if the storms would be bad as a result. Thunder clapped loudly, as if answering his silent question.

  He stayed almost on top of his father's heels. The night was black as ash, with only the lantern and the flashes of lightning ahead to guide their way home.

  It would be easy to get lost or trip and break a leg, or even a neck, on a night like this. But Edwin knew this path better than any. Even with the miniscule glow from the lantern, Ajax was confident in his father’s ability to guide them safely home. After all, he had walked this path for years, before dawn and after dusk.

  “Father, why does the portal close at dusk and open at dawn?”

  Edwin waited, holding the light high to look his son in the eye. “Much is not known about the portal,” he sighed. “There are three things we know for certain. First, the portal opens at dawn, second, the portal closes at sunset, and third...”

  Ajax finished the line. “No one who enters the portal ever returns.” He wasn't sure why he asked his father the question; maybe he simply needed a distraction. Everything his father knew had been passed down to him. Since he was a small child, he had been taught by firelight. Warnings about the portal had been his bedtime stories. Maybe he hoped for something new. He hadn't paid too much attention to the stories growing up. Nothing different had ever been discovered. And after all, the portal was never going to be his responsibility. He was the second son.

  Just as the first few raindrops began to fall, th
eir cottage came into view. Ajax and his father stood at the top of a hill. The home was small, but finely built. It was one of the few structures outside the castle wall made entirely of stone. It had two large windows in the front and a heavy wooden door, inlaid with veins of iron that made an intricate pattern. The windows glowed warmly in the darkness, beckoning them home. To the right of the house was a small well and a smaller wooden structure, barely visible at night, that housed two cows, three pigs, and a few chickens along with a beautiful black stallion that had been a gift from the King. On the left side of the house was a grand garden, full of almost everything imaginable. His mother had two green thumbs and could grow anything.

  Ajax glanced up at the sky as a few big drops of rain splashed onto his forehead. There was a chill in the air. He shuddered at the coldness of the water on his face. He hoped it was too late in the season for hail. The huge frozen ice hunks had destroyed their garden last fall, leaving them with hardly any fresh produce for the remainder of autumn and winter.

  Hail was rare this late in the season. But after last year, Ajax offered a silent prayer just in case.

  The heavens opened and unleashed a torrent of rain upon their heads as they made their final descent down the hill. Edwin threw on the cowl of his cloak and took off in a run, jumping nimbly over a fallen log and across a scattering of large rocks. Ajax quickened his pace and followed on his heels, wishing he too had a thick brown cloak, similar to his father’s, to shield his face. He was thankful the rain had waited until now.

  They were on Maxwell land now. Even without the light from his father’s lamp, Ajax could have made his way home. He knew every rock, every root, and every bend in the ground on his family's land.

  His mother must have been watching for them through a window, for she had the door open before his father had even reached for the handle. As they rushed in, she shut the door behind them and latched it closed. The thunder cracked above them loudly, causing his mother to jump.

  The wind and the rain beat down on the door like a giant hammer. “Ajax, my dear, fetch the crossbeam. I think we'll need the extra support for the door tonight. It sounds frightful.”

  She took her husband's cloak and hung it near the fire to dry as he took a seat at the table and reached down to pull off his boots. She turned back to see her son setting the board across the midsection of the door. “My poor dear, you are soaked to the bone,” she said, noticing his state for the first time.

  He looked pitiful, dripping and shivering in the entryway.

  “Go change into something dry while I put supper on the table.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You look sopping wet. I don't imagine you left any rain for my garden,” she teased, shaking her head and smiling easily.

  He leaned forward and gave her a mischievous look. Then laughing, he shook his hair, splattering her face in the process.

  “Ajax Maxwell!” she shrieked, trying not to smile as she used the corner of her apron to dry off. “You're never too old for me to pull across my knee.”

  He laughed again warmly and lunged forward, feinting a hug.

  She jumped back to avoid getting a second shower. “Go put on something dry, you daft boy, 'fore you end up sick and in bed for days.” She rolled her eyes and swatted him playfully as he moved to go. “Hurry up or your father shall eat all the supper.”

  He glanced at his father, who was already ladling a heaping helping into his bowl. His father dipped his spoon in the bowl and took a slow, meaningful bite. He closed his eyes, savoring the goodness of Mother's stew. Then he opened them, looked at his son, and nodded in agreement with the comment.

  Ajax hurried to his room. Stew was a favorite in the Maxwell home, especially on a cold night such as this. He hoped it wasn't lamb stew, or he didn't stand a chance of getting anything.

  He opened the door and stepped inside, trying not to drip too much in one place. It wasn't the largest or grandest room ever, but it was cozy and it suited him. His bed was to the left when he entered. A small table with a water basin and bowl on it sat beside it. A sturdy metal trunk rested at the foot of his bed, where his few treasures lay concealed. In the corner was a fine steel bow and a quiver of arrows. Across from the bed he had a small desk with an oil lamp. His wardrobe sat beside his desk. And in the far corner was a small fireplace.

  He tossed his wet clothes on top of the chest, and pulled a dry shirt over his head. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms and he rubbed his hands over them to warm himself up. The temperature had dropped significantly as the storm rolled in. He was cold, and being wet didn't help. Ajax quickly finished getting dressed, in a hurry to warm his bones with a giant bowl of his mother's stew.

  As he opened his door he could hear his parents conversing in hushed voices. Stepping noiselessly to avoid being detected, he crept down the hallway. A memory flashed into his mind of a game he used to play almost every night with Axel. Whichever brother could creep out of their room and get the farthest without being caught would win. Axel usually lost, earning himself an extra morning chore of Ajax's choosing. It wasn't that Ajax had been so much quieter than his older brother, but more that Axel had always been more daring. He would push himself further and further until ultimately, he would get caught. Their main goal had been to snatch an extra cookie at night from the kitchen table. Neither of them ever succeeded, but Axel definitely got the closest.

  As Ajax sneaked closer he was able to decipher most of what was being discussed.

  “—too dangerous,” his mother whispered. “—already lost one. We don't owe the kingdom anything else.”

  “This is about our honor, woman.” Ajax heard his father respond, his deep voice carrying far more easily than his mother's had. “Axel put a stain on our family's good name. Ajax has the chance to correct that, to make our name mean something again. Do you realize how much we've lost?”

  “I don't care about that,” his mother began, but as she continued she spoke even softer.

  Ajax strained to hear more but it was too quiet. After a moment, his mother raised her voice. “Blast you. Our son is more important than your pride. He’s just a boy, and he hasn't even been trained properly. And you can't swear to me that he won't have to face—”

  “He'll be fine,” his father interrupted, his voice stern, final. “I can continue his education come spring.”

  Ajax crept back to his room and shut the door, making sure it made a sufficient amount of noise. Then he walked back down the hallway, this time not trying to conceal his presence.

  “Smells splendid, Mother. I'm famished.” Ajax smiled.

  He watched his parents clumsily try to resume a casual appearance. His father peered down and dunked a chunk of bread into his stew. His mother tried to smile, but was unable to conceal the worry that consumed her countenance. She dipped the ladle into the big black pot sitting on the table, and spooned a hearty helping into Ajax's bowl.

  “Eat up. Nothing’s worse than cold stew,” his mother advised.

  Ajax took a seat and picked up a spoon. He stirred slowly, blowing the steam off the top of a heaping spoonful as his mother handed him a thick slice of bread smothered in a generous amount of butter.

  The room was eerily quiet. His mother shuffled about the kitchen, cleaning her working table off and washing dishes. His father ate quickly and then headed out to check on their livestock. Normally they all sat together and chatted about their day. Typically, there was laughter and some teasing, lovingly done, of course.

  That evening, Ajax felt like an intruder as he finished off his supper. The tension seemed to hang overhead. He wished he could wave it away as easily as a pesky fly.

  The storm had stopped, which only seemed to amplify the silence in the house.

  What was his mother afraid of? He would never run off as Axel had. It still infuriated him when he let his mind dwell on the past. How could his brother abandon them? Leave him? And without a word.

  Ajax remembered how proud Axel had been at first, but the
n hour after hour, day after day, week after week, to purely stand there and guard the portal, the life had slowly begun to drain out of him. He became bored and anxious. His father tried to remind him that although there was sacrifice, considerable reward was also given.

  But the pride he felt faded quickly. He thought the price was too substantial. Standing watch over a dangerous portal, that only a handful of people even knew existed, was a waste of time in his brother's mind, no matter the compensation.

  The Maxwells and the Stonemans, the two families whose charge was to guard the portal, were gifted much. His family stood watch in fall and winter, while the Stonemans had the responsibility in the spring and summer.

  If Axel had simply made it through the winter, then come spring and summer he would have attended ball after ball, having his pick of any maiden to marry, second after only the Prince's choice. He would have been gifted land and a fine house, designed according to his every whim. All this was bestowed on the portal keeper to show appreciation for his service.

  If he only could have endured it for another couple of months, but Axel bolted two weeks prior to Christmas. Their father had gone searching for him when he hadn't returned. In shame Ajax had to confess to his father that his brother had secretly harbored the desire to leave, though Ajax still couldn't fathom that his brother had left without telling him first.

  Edwin had to stand before the council in humiliation and explain to the King what had transpired. How his eldest son had abandoned his duty, and put his selfish desires before the good of the kingdom. It had crushed his father. He hadn't been the same since. Then Edwin had to resume the post since no other Maxwell was of age. That was the day when Ajax had begun to train.

  Now in seven days’ time, he would take over the post from his father. He knew in his heart he would never abandon the post as his brother did, but there were other ways he could fail. Ways Ajax tried not to think about. When thoughts began to bubble to the surface, he pushed them down to the very depths of his soul.