The Keeper's Heart

by Catherine Stovall

  Finished drinking, she knelt on the rough floor with rocks cutting into her knees. Somehow the sharp pain anchored her, made her feel as if she was still whole. She bent, pressing her hands to the ground as her long hair tumbled over her shoulder to conceal the tears trickling down her face.

  One-eye ordered her to stand, but Amara did not, could not, move. Her body felt as if it weighed hundreds of pounds, the gravity in the room seeming to press down on her like a heavy hand. Everything she loved seemed so far away, and nearly forgotten memories receded from her grasp. The urge to lie down and die stole over her, sucking her will to continue away.

  The sensation of having her energy drained rattled something in the back of her mind, and Amara twitched. Corinthia’s voice echoed in the depths of her memory, faint and sweet. That taint is what drew in the demons and the darkness. It is the Keeper’s who draw the power and knowledge from the souls cast into the pits, turning the damned to useless wraiths. It is how they survive.

  Amara realized then, she really was dying. The Keepers were drawing out her essence, using it to sustain their own lives within the depths of such a strange and horrid place. Scrunching her eyes tight, she tried communicating with the ancient beings.

  Please, stop, even her inner voice was weak. I’m trying to save my friends. I can’t die here. Please. I’ve come here to do good. I’m not condemned, well, not yet.

  Silence answered her, but the sensation of her soul being extracted paused.

  Please? I was a Keeper, like you, but I broke the laws. A harsh tug on her soul sent her body splaying to the ground, and she heard Marcus screaming her name.

  No! Wait! I did it to save my wards. They are lost souls. They don’t deserve this. I tried to give Corinthia her heart back to find you. I swear, I’m good. I am not meant to die here.

  At the mention of Corinthia’s name, a strange humming began. With her face pressed to the hard and jagged debris covering the floor, Amara let it fill her mind. Dozens of voices drowned together, rising and falling together in waves through her mind.

  I can’t understand you. Please, please help—

  A strong female voice rose up over the den of others. Who are you, child, and why have you come here to disturb our peace?

  I am Amara of the Keepers, turned human by Morta for my wrongs. I’ve come here by her instruction. She told me of the Weaver’s lair and said it was here that I could change our destinies.

  Another voice rose up, this one deep and purely male. Tell me what you know of Corinthia. Tell me now, or die.

  Amara was stunned for a moment by the threat, but when the pulling force came again, her mind called out in fear, I defeated the Reaper she had become and won her heart as my trophy. I used it to go into the mists and offered to trade it for information on where to find your lair.

  The man’s voice came again, this time overlapped in places by the woman who had spoken first. Did she take the heart? —Reginald that’s enough— Did you give her heart back, damn you?

  I tried, but the Apollumi took it. The one they call Chiyo has it now. I wanted to return it to Corinthia, I swear!

  The drawing out of her soul ceased once more and the voices rose in a great wall of noise inside Amara’s head. She tried to filter through the chaos, but only bits and pieces were clear.

  He has the stone—we must—she’s weak—Reginald—too much­—alas—doom­—Cronus—stop­—Rhea—Rhea­—Rhea.

  Amara had a sudden, revolting thought. I’m going to die here in Sheol in a pool of rusty water and dirty gravel, while hearing voices in my head. So much for the glories of immortality.

  A new voice, stronger and clearer than all the rest came through. Demanding and forceful, she called out, Stop babbling as if you are really the dying teenager you appear to be. You have done us both a great service and great harm, young Amara. By trying to return the heart stone to our lost sister, you showed that you are honorable. However, letting it fall into the Apollumi’s hands has given our enemy back the power he lost. My husband feeds from the power of the hearts he has collected. Defeating the Reaper would have reclaimed the heart and the power, but if he has it again, then he is will be stronger for the fact that the heart has been used for evil.

  Amara would have gasped if the weight of her own body had not crushed out the little bit of air left in her lungs. Rhea? Oh! No! No! Not Cronus. I’m so sorry. She wanted to weep. She wanted to throw herself in the pits of Sheol and burn. In trying to save two souls, she had condemned the world.

  Silence! Crying and apologies will do you no good. Either retrieve the stone or die trying. That is your only choice. If you have to sacrifice every one of your paltry lives, it does not matter.

  Chapter 20

  Betrayal’s Name is Beauty

  Amara awakened, surprised to find herself lying in a comfortable bed. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, disbelieving what they perceived. The room looked like something out of a cheesy, vampire bordello movie. The walls were padded in black leather; the chairs were done in red. Large mirrors hung at all angles and everything was trimmed in gold.

  Sliding out of the cool softness of red satin sheets, Amara slipped through the sheer black bed curtains, and stood on wobbling legs. A wave of fear and disgust filled her as her bare feet sunk into plush red carpet. Looking down, she realized she wore nothing but a white silk nightgown that barely reached mid-thigh.

  She spun in a slow circle, looking around the gaudy room for some sign of her clothing. Twisted figurines of gilded demon forms in strange contortions dotted the tables, but her clothes were not among them. Stalking back to the bed, Amara ripped one of the sheets off and wrapped it around her.

  Striding to the door, she tried to open it, but to no avail. Frustration built up inside of her, making her body shake and her breath come in short gasps. Slapping her palm noisily against the leather backing, she screamed for help, only managing to cause her hand to sting. With a scream of exasperation, she kicked the door, and turned away.

  She paced at first, talking aloud. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I’m not going to be kept in this room. They will have to come eventually, and when they do, I’ll…I’ll…. Ugh!”

  The hand not holding the sheet tight around her gripped the back of the nearest chair, and though it strained her muscles, she dragged it around to face the door. She would be ready and waiting for whatever came next. Flopping down, she sat and plotted­—anything to avoid thinking about how she had ended up in the room wearing next to nothing.

  “I will find the others, get the heart stone back, and kill Cronus! I will!” her voice rose in her need to find someone to hear her vows of vengeance. “Do you hear me? I will kill you all!”

  A soft chuckle surrounded her and filled Amara’s head. “Aren’t you the feisty one?”

  Squealing in fear, Amara clutched the sheet tighter around her and jumped from the chair.

  “Settle down, Amara. I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I think I can help you.” As the man spoke, a shadow began to form in the corner of the room near an unlit fireplace.

  Amara watched in horror as the shade darkened and solidified, taking on a shape of a man. His long black hair fell loosely around his shoulders, large black eyes bored into her, and his thick mustache curled slightly at the tips. He moved toward her, obviously comfortable dressed as a human in a well-tailored, pinstripe suit, a red silk tie, and shining black shoes.

  “The get up, it’s pretty cliché, don’t you think?” Amara hissed.

  “Says the girl wearing nothing more than my linens and a shift,” he quipped, reminding her of her current state of undress.

  Damning her human condition once more, Amara felt the heat rise in her cheeks, leaving them flushed. Doing her best to conceal her embarrassment, she spat at him like an angry cat.

  He chuckled again, crossing his arm over his chest, quite relaxed. “Don’t worry, Amara, your temporary human virtue remains intact. I have no interest in the bodies of litt
le girls. In fact, your little friend is the one who took care of you during your untimely slumber. They have all been very worried about you, dear.”

  “What have you done to them? Where are they?”

  “They are all safely tucked away, awaiting you and your decision.” He smiled, tempting her to take his bait.

  “So it is to be a deal with the devil, Cronus. Is that what you are saying?” Amara checked her anger and evened her tone. Narrowing her eyes she took a step forward to prove she was not afraid.

  “A deal, yes. The devil, no. I’m on your side. The Keeper’s, they have used you as their death machine for hundreds of years. Forced you to watch humans grow, love, live, and die. Then, when you felt love for humans, the Parcae condemned you. They turned their backs on you and made you too weak to save yourself.”

  “Your point?” She couldn’t argue with his words, there was too much truth in them.

  “Help me, Amara. Help me take over the world, and you will be the daughter that I never had. I will return your power and your immortality. You can be an heir to the universe. Save the humans or condemn them all, it will be your choice. Whatever your heart desires, you can have. You can keep your little human pets with you forever. They will not get sick and die, they will not fall victim to destiny’s cruel hand.”

  The picture he painted seemed like the answer to all her prayers. “And what’s in it for you?”

  Flashing a smile of perfect white teeth, Cronus finished crossing the room. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? I do need something from you. You see, my plan will only work if I can do away with all the Keepers. Once I consume Corinthia’s heart stone, I will be at full power once more. However, there is the issue of the ancient ones. I know, Corinthia told you where I can find my darling wife, Rhea, and her ilk. All I need is for you to tell me.”

  Stalling for time as the pieces of a plan began to form inside her head, Amara kept him talking. “You want me to help you destroy the original Keepers?”

  “You know, I like that bluntness about you. You are like an open book. Simply put, yes. And once that is accomplished, I will share their heart stones with you. Together, we will defeat the Creator, and we will rule forever in an Eden of our own making.”

  “If I choose not to help you, then what?”

  He smiled, all teeth and panache. “I will drag your little friends out and kill them in front of you. One by one. Rest assured, they are safe for now, but should you decline my offer or try to escape, they will beg for death by the time I’m done.”

  A slight smile toyed at the corners of her lips. “But, with that much power at my fingertips, what makes you think I would care?”

  “A little taste of what I can offer, and you are already sounding like the perfect protégé.” Cronus’s cocky grin slid away from his face for a brief moment. Quickly recovering from the shock of her boldness, he turned the chair back to its original place, and motioned for her to sit.

  Amara did as he suggested, curling her legs under her, still tightly clutching the slippery sheet. “How can I trust you? You did try to kill your own wife.”

  Agitation creased Cronus’s brow, but the sardonic grin held its place like a stubborn child. “You don’t or you do. Quite frankly, it is the difference between life and death.”

  “Swear to me. Swear on your heart stone, that you will not betray me, Cronus. Tell me that as long as I help you, my life is sacred. I want to hear the words.”

  “Promises are cheap and easily broken. Can’t you think of something more impressive? I’m willing to guarantee your safety and happiness, my dear, but let’s at least be a little creative.”

  “Age me.” The thought was out of her mouth before she even considered it. “It’s simple enough. I would have done it myself by now if Morta hadn’t turned me human. Swear your oath and allow me to be a woman, rather than a child. Not to old mind you, just old enough. Twenty should do the trick.” She heard herself then, an ancient woman trapped in a child’s body. Around Cronus, she did not feel young as she did with Marcus, Desiree, and Anthony. Instead, she felt like an imposter, and for the first time in hundreds of years, Amara wanted to age more than anything.

  “Ah, betrayal. Thy name is beauty. Vanity has always been a woman’s best friend and worst enemy.”

  “Do we have a deal, Cronus?” Her words were as cold as the look she gave him.

  He stood to his full height, the loss of his smile as he appraised her making him appear far larger and much more dangerous. Deep set lines ran to the corners of his thin lips and crow’s feet etched themselves into the corner of his narrowed ebony eyes. He seemed old then, not the dashing devil playing cat and mouse with her, but a wizened and deadly foe.

  “Stand,” Cronus ordered. Without another word, he seized her by the shoulders, looked deep into her eyes, and stared as if her very soul was on display.

  A stirring began just under her skin, a strange, creeping feeling as if there were a thousand earth worms crawling just under her flesh. Amara gasped, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open in a half-formed protest. The room swam and pulsated before her eyes, and Cronus’s face distorted into a grotesque, carnival mirror reflection. Amara held on to the lapel of his coat, grasping for something solid to keep her standing and praying the peculiar sensation would quickly pass.

  When her bones felt as if they had liquefied and she could no longer stand, she sank to her knees, convinced the scoundrel had betrayed her. Before she could scream or think to call out to the hidden Keepers for help, the feeling faded. Amara clung to the satin sheet for the thin warmth it offered as she tried to chase the remnants of a chill from her blood.

  Cronus extended his large hand, offering his assistance, even as his constant smile mocked her. Despite his derision, his voice was gentle, “Come. See the woman you have become.”

  Amara grudgingly placed her trembling hand into his and allowed him to help her to rise. Trying hard not to faint, she permitted him to guide her across the room where the largest of the gilded mirrors stood. She closed her eyes, afraid she’d find herself old or disfigured, and terrified he had done her harm.

  “Open your eyes, little one. I have given you exactly what you asked for, and I think you will be pleased.”

  At his coaxing, Amara opened her eyes. A woman stood before her, wide eyed with awe. The hair was a bit darker, the eyes a little more blue, and the cheeks were not quite as round. She had grown taller, and when she opened the sheet, she realized that her willowy frame had gained a bit more curve. Still, she was recognizable, still herself. Yet, she was different. All the years she had been in the mists, she had thought little of her appearance, but given a chance at humanity, she realized she was vain.

  Gently touching her hand to her cheek, she turned to Cronus with tears in her eyes. “I will help you.”

  “Very well,” his words were simple, but the pleasure shined in his dark eyes. “I will send some clothing, and we will leave as soon as you are prepared. Is there anything else the lady wishes?”

  Amara cast her eyes downward, biting her lower lip in indecision.

  “Don’t be shy. If we are to be like father and daughter, you must learn to speak to me.” His voice was convincing, he had given her all she had asked, after all.

  “I am tired. I am hungry. I want to bathe. Could I rest for a while? This human body is so taxing, and I know I can’t ask you to change me back to an immortal until I have proven myself. May I just have a bit to recover, my lord?” She spoke to him as she would any ancient being, with respect and formality.

  Cronus’s eyes narrowed, distrust and scrutiny swimming in their blackened depths. “Of course, how inconsiderate of me. I’ll send food along as well. We will reconvene in the morning.”

  Amara bowed her head in a slight nod of deference. “Thank you.”

  Cronus did not speak. Instead, he returned her nod with a curt one of his own, spun on his heel, and disappeared.

  Amara was left staring in awe at the sp
ot where he had been, envying his power and questioning her choice. In the silence of the room, she paced. Thoughts of Marcus, Desiree, and Anthony pummeled against her as if she were being physically beaten. Each tear and sob hurt her heart, her head, and made her limbs ache. The torment drove her back to the bed, where she buried her face in the softness of satin covered pillows.

  A servant came, filling a large copper tub behind an ornately carved screen. Amara didn’t look up. She cared for nothing other than her own pain. When she heard the door close, she finally stood and crossed to the mirror, stripping the silk nightgown away as she went. Standing completely exposed in the looking glass with the steam billowing from the hot water behind her, she looked almost mystical. However, she was filled with disgust and the voices of the hidden Keepers echoed her revulsion. Her body looked grown and beautiful, but inside, she felt like a broken child.

  Tears dripped down her cheeks, falling into the soapy water as she bathed. Washing away the dirt on her skin and the grime from her hair did nothing to scrub away the tarnish she felt on her soul. Giving up on finding any semblance of comfort, Amara toweled herself off, and slipped on a fresh nightgown that lay atop a stack of clothes left near the bed.

  By the time the door opened again, she had crawled beneath the blood colored sheets and wrapped her misery around her in a thick cocoon. Red eyed and exhausted, she sat up at the sound of humming and the rattling of dishes. Blinking twice, she rubbed her fist against her eyelids, mistrustful of what she saw. The man pushing a small servant cart was not much of a man at all. She could see right through his dusky and faded image.

  The shade approached the bed in a flat and expressionless manner, his movements precise, but wooden. Amara had the extreme urge to recoil from its presence, not because it was grotesque, but because it was frightening to look into the eyes of a soulless waif.

  The creature ignored, or didn’t notice, her staring as it set to work. He unfolded a small lap table and placed it over her. His humming continued as he set down plates, a bowl, and silverware. The whole experience seemed entirely too civilized to be taking place down in the remote recesses of a place that tortured souls and sucked Keepers dry.