The Keeper's Heart

by Catherine Stovall

  Chiyo’s smile faded from her lips as if it had only been an illusion. Her words came in small, hateful bites. “Give. Me. The. Heart. Stone. Now!”

  Finally managing the ribbons, Amara used her feet to push her body up the wall, her back sliding against the rough stone. The sensation of rock cutting her skin made her grimace, but a few lacerations were the least of her concerns. Once again, she faced death.

  Chiyo’s dark eyes lit up with greed as Amara pulled the ruby from its place at her side. Reaching out, she demanded again, “Give me the heart stone!”

  Amara frowned, all her wrath projected in the simple gesture. “If you want it, come get it, freak!”

  In one swift motion, Amara rammed the heart into her chest, the stone immediately passing through layers of flesh and bone until it came to rest within her. Warmth shot through her veins, made her head feel light, and caused the world to spin.

  “No-o-o!” Chiyo screamed as she brought her sword down in a deadly arc.

  Amara didn’t flinch. The power of eleven ancient Keepers pumped through her body, mutating the human form into something more than eternal and invincible. She had the power of the Creator inside her, and no matter how sharp the blade or how powerful the strike, nothing could harm her.

  Her hand snaked out catching Chiyo’s wrist and halting the sword’s progress toward her head. Crushing the bones beneath her tiny fingers seemed impossible, but the slightest pressure caused them to crumble like dust.

  As Chiyo screamed in agony, Amara squeezed tighter. “Had you killed me when you had the chance, you might have had your victory,” her voice was hard and unforgiving. “You see, I will not kill you. No, that’s too good for a monster. Instead, I’m going to drain you until your soul cracks open and bleeds. I will leave you nothing but a wraith to wander Sheol, aimless for all of eternity.”

  Using the power of the ancients, she looked into Chiyo’s soul, dark and writhing inside the eternally youthful body. With a deep breath, she envisioned the mass pulsating with life as she pulled it into her lungs. Bit by bit, she took the woman’s life force, breathing it in with deep, slow intakes of air.

  Chiyo’s head slumped forward, resting on her chest. Stumbling on weakened knees, she sunk to the ground. Pain and fear danced in her ebony irises as the Apollumi warrior realized she had been bested; not only by a human, but by her own need for validation.

  In one final attempt to save herself and destroy Amara, she used her good hand to pick up the sword from where it had clattered to the ground. Stabbing upward, she didn’t have the thrusting power of her right hand, but she hit her mark. The sharp point of the blade sunk into Amara’s abdomen and lodged itself deep within the vital organs.

  Amara gasped as the sword pushed into her intestines and came to rest against her spine. Looking down at Chiyo in horror, she watched as that final intake of breath pulled the last of the inner being from the faltering body. The numbness of anger diminished, and as she observed her enemy fade into nothing but a mindless wraith, she ripped the blade from her body.

  The sticky red liquid running down the base of the sword was a painless reminder that she was no longer mortal. By taking the heart into herself, she had consumed the power of the ten ancient’s destroyed by Cronus, and his heart as well.

  Only a single heart had stood between her and the ability to be as powerful as the Creator. Chiyo’s made the twelfth and final element needed. No one, except a god or goddess, could ever cause her harm. The last of her humanity slipped away, leaving her as cold and pristine inside as the crimson heart stone. A sacrifice for the sake of love had taken the possibility of such a thing away.

  Tossing the sword aside, Amara plucked Chiyo’s heart stone from the ashes. The shrunken and blackened gem had lost all luster and shine. Only a small echo of power still shimmered like a forgotten memory around its shell. The feel of death made her skin crawl as she crossed the room and placed the heart next to the others in the box on Cronus’s desk.

  Twelve dead hearts. Twelve Reapers in the mists.

  Shaking off the haunting memory of Corinthia’s Reaper persona, Amara stepped forward and raised her arms. The walls of Sheol trembled with her might as the ancient Keepers and her friends were pulled from their hideaways. The power of the twelve burned bright within her, and she felt it as if it were lightning striking the gem at its center in steady beats.

  Even her voice seemed amplified and glorious, “Bring me the loom. Let this be done.”

  Marcus tried to step forward and embrace her, eager to feel her safe in his arms, but she stared at him as if he were a stranger. Her once vivid eyes became no more than emotionless voids.

  “Do not approach me,” she warned, her voice hard and cold. “I shall give you what I promised. No more, no less. The girl who was your friend is no more. In my weakness as a Keeper and a human, I faltered. Do not mistake my failure as something other than what it was. I am no longer of your world, and I do not wish for your sentimental declarations.”

  Three pairs of eyes stared at her in shock and pain as the loom was brought forward and Amara sat down without further delay. She positioned the first cloth, which had once been two pieces, but had been woven together to join the two humans.

  “Desiree. Anthony. Step forward.” Amara sat at the ready, and when the lovers came to her side, she ordered, “Hold out your left hands.” Both did as she said, and with a long sharp needle topped with a small ruby heart, she pricked their index fingers.

  She pressed their hands together, letting the blood merge onto the strings, and then gently pushed them away. Without a word, or even a glance, Amara began. The ancient blood within the heart stone sang out to her, giving her the knowledge of the old Keepers. Their voices rose up from inside the ruby, guiding her hands.

  Gently undoing the threads of the things she did not want to come to pass, Amara worked with single-minded concentration. Even the others voices rising in worry did not distract her . The commotion around her as her wards bodies grew faint and eventually faded away was no more than a distant blur. Nothing else existed, other than her mission to change the past and secure a better future.

  Working the levers and the strings, Amara worked on and on, weaving a new destiny for the children she had once loved enough to save. She began on the day Anthony had gone to see Carl, the fateful day that had sealed his and Desiree’s futures with a single bullet. Amara wove in happenstance and coincidence, to distract and derail the boy from ever completing what had begun as a wayward thought. She fixed his mistakes, ensuring he would never meet Carl.

  Amara built a life full of love, challenges, success, and failure. The picture she painted within the threads was not without its flaws. There were snags and snarls and lose threads. Yet, the imperfections lent it the perfect beauty, and when she tied off the final string to seal their shared fate, even Amara could see she had completed a masterpiece. Their future would be decided by the other Keepers, but their path until that point had been redeemed.

  Gently replacing the newly created pattern from the loom with another, Amara reached outward. “Marcus, step forward and give me your hand.”

  She kept her eyes down, but when his skin touched hers, Amara felt a spark. The tiniest memory of feeling threatened to break through. The needle hesitated just above the pad of his index finger for a fraction of a second, before she recovered. With a quick jab, she stuck Marcus’s finger and held it over the loom.

  Disregarding her orders for silence, Marcus leaned down and spoke quietly in her ear. “You can take me back to whenever. You can change anything you want. You can end my life or let me live forever, it’s your choice. Just, Amara, please don’t take the sight away. Even if you strip away every memory I have ever had of you, my heart will know, and living without the hope of seeing you again would kill me.”

  She wanted to look up at the young man who defied her and mystified her all at once, but something told her that if she did, she’d never be able to go back. Instead, Amara gro
wled, “I’m done with you, step back.”

  She watched his life unfold as her hands moved with mechanical accuracy over the threads. She erased the pain she could and restored the things she thought he must experience to be the man he had become. Though she no longer felt the deep, consuming love that had so quickly blossomed between them, Amara wanted to give Marcus the best life she could without tipping the fragile balances.

  Desiree, Anthony, and Marcus were all heroes in her mind. Each had joined the ranks of unsung champions who had saved the world from certain destruction from things most humans could never fathom. In honor of that special trait, she hoped he would find the security he had provided her, the love he desired, and the happiness he deserved.

  As Amara tore away the old, wove in the new, and followed the guidance of the ancient Keepers, Marcus quietly faded away. Tears streamed down his face as he watched her, gloriously beautiful, with her blonde hair falling in her face as she worked. His eyes devoured every line, curve, shade, and detail of the girl he loved as he promised he would not forget.

  Alone, except for the old Keepers, she tied the final string to Marcus’s fate, and set the tapestry aside. Something akin to sadness brushed against her heart before it was whisked away, leaving nothing in its wake. She had completed her duty to her humans, sending them back into their world unharmed and whole once more. The only thing left to do was set a destiny for herself.

  Chapter 25

  Destiny Revealed

  Rhea timidly approached. “Amara, the time has come to journey to the home of the Parcae. Much has transpired here, we must seek out the sisters and a decision must be made about your future.”

  The contempt in Amara’s eyes flashed like deadly fire. “The decision has already been made.”

  Rhea’s lips pursed with worry. “And just what have you decided?”

  “I will stay here in Sheol. Not hidden in the crevices as if I am a ghost. I will live out in the open and make it my own. This place is torment and pain. That is all I desire now. The heart stone may not be capable of holding emotion within its crystalline form, but my soul remembers. The ones who I loved are all gone, cast away by the hard hand that turns the wheel. Without them, I have no wish to be a part of any world any longer.”

  “But the heart stone is too powerful, it must be tethered and protected.”

  Amara raised her eyebrows. “And who do you propose would be so brave? Who would dare try to bind it or me? Who would have the courage to attack someone as powerful as the Creator? No one will ever use the power within this cursed rock to harm another for so long as it is in my care. You have no need to worry, Rhea.”

  “That is not the way it works, that is not the law!” The ancient Keeper’s frustration grew, making her voice rise. “You are one of us, and you are bound by­—”

  “I am bound by nothing! I belong to no one!” she shouted until the floor trembled beneath their feet. Amara shoved away from the loom and faced Rhea. “There is no one who can stop me!”

  She turned to walk away, intending to call every Apollumi soldier back to Sheol. She would cleanse their ranks of all traitors and imprison the rest. Whatever it took to right all the wrongs that Cronus had done, she planned to do it, as long as no one else died in violence. She would create no more Reapers, the world had enough chaos and senseless loss as it was.

  Halfway to the door, a deep baritone voice stopped her in her tracks. “You’ve forgotten, Amara, there is still one other who is as powerful as you. In fact, I’d like to fancy myself quite a bit stronger than any of you have given me credit for.”

  She slowly turned toward the voice, half-afraid and half-excited. The power behind the tone could only mean one thing. Only one man in all of the worlds and dimensions could possibly carry that much primordial energy in such a sarcastic statement.

  The few lingering Keepers, including Rhea, had gone down on one knee with their heads bowed. The silence in the room was as thick as molasses. Her eyes locked with his, and Amara felt as if she had been kicked in the ribs again. Her breath rushed out of constricting lungs and her mouth fell open in awe.

  His russet colored hair was parted in the middle, hanging down to his shoulders where it curled slightly at the ends. His eyes were the color of the blue hydrangeas that had once grown near her childhood home. The pearl-gray, pinstriped suit and violet tie accentuated the spread of his muscular chest and regal stature. He would have looked human, if not for the inner light radiating all around him.

  He chuckled at her boldness. “So, you do not bow to your creator, little Keeper?”

  Stammering apologies that made no sense, Amara fell to one knee and bowed her head as the others had. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long…Well, I guess you would know. But, wait! How? Why? Oh, I’m sorry!”

  “Hush!” his voice boomed. “Rise now, all of you. Keepers, you may take your leave. Go back to your shadows and haunting these old stones if that is what you wish. Return to the mists and resume your lives, if that is what you desire. Except for you, Amara. I imagine you have some questions.”

  His dismissal of the others struck her as odd, but Amara didn’t have the strength left in her to question his indifference. Instead, she focused on herself as she rose from the ground. Of all the things she could have asked in that moment, there was only one question plaguing her. A deep, unsettling inquiry that had often raised itself in the quiet hours she had spent adrift in the mists.

  “Why?” her voice shook. “Why did you never give me a destiny? Why am I not worthy of being loved, of living, of knowing the companionship I have been forced to watch others have?” She could feel hundreds of years of pain and doubt skimming the surface, threatening to crack the careful emotional barrier put in place by the heart stone.

  “Is that how you see it?” his voice was gentle and filled with genuine surprise.

  “Yes!” Amara cried, “How else could it seem?”

  In three long strides, the Creator was standing so close to her that his scent of earth and spices nearly made her dizzy. Intimidated, Amara stared at the floor, but he gently held her chin with his thumb and forefinger and made her meet his eyes.

  “You are a child of my heart and my making. Just because others could not see your destiny, does not mean it did not exist. Perhaps that was my folly, not letting the rest of the world see you as I made you. Why do you think I sent my sister Mabel to aid you?”

  “Mysterious Mabel is your sister? You mean…?” As wide-eyed as a small child, she waited.

  “Yes, Amara, it’s true. You are not some unwanted creature untouched by fate. You are the daughter of my soul, unfettered by that which bounds all others. When Cronus nearly destroyed my Keepers and disappeared into Sheol, he was protected by the very laws I had created to maintain balance in the universe. All things have a counter weight to keep the scales from tipping. When he turned away from his path, yours began. Every person that came before you lived a destiny that would bring you to this world like a single star in an endless night.”

  The words swirled inside her mind, tumbling over each other like the rapids of waterfall cascading over her. Wanted. Needed. Meant to be. Things she had never thought possible for herself. A daughter of the Creator’s soul. Everything she had believed was wrong. She had been meant for greatness, when she had thought she had no path at all.

  He took her hand in his, leading her across the room to the desk. Gently urging her down into the soft cushions of a high-back chair, the Creator pulled his own seat nearer. Resting his elbows on his knees, he waited until her mind seemed to clear.

  “I want you to know, I have not come here to judge you. I have not come to lock you away forever or force you back into service as a Keeper.” Her blank stare was daunting, causing him to question, “Do you understand?”

  Her head bobbed up and down, and she whispered, “Yes.”

  “Do you really want to stay here in this cursed hell?”

  Curling her feet into the chair as if she were chil
d, Amara rested her head on her knees. “Yes. I do. There is nothing left for me outside of the comfort of misery. I’m not being petulant or ungrateful. You have brought me great relief, but not happiness. I felt like I belonged with them. I felt loved and wanted in a way I hadn’t known since I was a child. Maybe I will one day wish to return to being a Keeper, but right now, I am grieving a loss. I may not feel those emotions as I did when I was human, but I know sadness exists in my soul.”

  “Perhaps I can assist you, my dear. I have a bargain for you, if you are willing to hear me out.” He picked up the box of dead heart stones and gazed sadly through the glass lid.

  A spark of curiosity lit Amara’s eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “Cronus may be gone, but the taint of his greed and destruction still walks among the living. Those dark and heartless creatures of chaos formed from the twelve deaths must be stopped. With their deaths, the power of the heart stones will return, and the lost Keepers can live once more. When Cronus’s and Chiyo’s Reapers are slain, I will ensure they are bound so they can cause no harm to any others.”

  “Are you asking me to hunt the Reapers?”

  “To put it bluntly, yes.” The Creator chuckled, enjoying the fire still burning inside the nearly broken girl before him.

  “And if I do?”

  “You will have completed your destiny. Your journey as a Keeper will come to an end if that is what you so choose.”

  “You want me to destroy the Reapers, and my reward is my own death? What the heck is wrong with you?” Amara instantly regretted her choice of words and the rage that had fueled them, but the idea seemed positively ludicrous.