Treasurekeeper

by Ripley Harper

  “Jess?” Jonathan gives me a nervous look. “Is that you?”

  “Yes. It is.” I taste a certain untruth on my tongue, rethink my words. “Mostly, it is I, even if I am enlarged—–enriched by all the worlds and all the lives I have tasted.”

  “You need to focus, okay? You’re sounding stranger by the second, and if you lose yourself again, we’re going to have a real problem. I’m warning you; I’m spent.”

  I nod gravely. “Do not fear; I am still the girl you know. Although I can feel the immense power of the cavedragon shimmering inside me, it is a power leashed by the slayer’s touch.”

  I turn my head to smile at the scarred young man who takes this task—–like every other task ever laid on his shoulders—–so very seriously. “Thank you, slayer. In times to come, I will not forget the assistance you have lent me on this day.”

  “Forget about times to come. Do what you’ve come to do and be done with it.”

  “Agreed.”

  I turn to the small family who is now staring at us in bewilderment. The parents are whole and healthy; the weakness that lies upon them is little more than exhaustion. The child, on the other hand… I move closer to the tiny living creature, overcome by a radical sense of empathy so deep that it makes my throat close with emotion.

  The baby is sick. Dying.

  The fragile green glow of the life-force that animates his material form is fading, and soon he will enter the deep shadows where the particles that once made up his individual being will dissolve into the simmering cauldron of potential existence once again.

  I reach out a hand in pity, unable to help myself.

  Oh, the unutterable sadness of mortality!

  How brave the people of this world are, to constantly live with the certain knowledge that everything they know and love will eventually turn to dust and ashes and nothingness. How terribly strange it must be, accepting that everything you are will one day disappear into the unknowable complexity of a reality far too great for a mammal mind to grasp.

  The moment I touch the little boy’s skin, the particular miracle of this tiny individual life shocks through me like a jolt of electricity. How wondrous that this exact configuration of breath and blood and flesh could have been shaped in this particular time and place, out of matter created billions of years ago, in the heart of exploding stars!

  What a marvel it is, for this child to be alive! How beautifully he has been crafted, how carefully constructed! How infinitely small the chance that the specific circumstances that led to its creation could ever be repeated in a billion universes, in a hundred billion years!

  I focus my awareness fully on the tiny life of this creature, so delicately anchored within this fragile body. And oh! The shock of finding that such an intricate and exquisite vehicle of life can be doomed by such a tiny little flaw!

  “This child is pulsing with life,” I tell the slayer who is kneeling next to me, his hands still resting on my shoulders. “It is but a small mechanical fault that dooms him to oblivion. I will not stand by and let it happen.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I want to Heal him.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  “Because I fear that I will not be able to control my magic, once I let it loose. Earthmagic is new to me, and I have never Healed anyone before.”

  “I have watched you Heal with my own eyes.”

  “Then you remember something I cannot. If I have Healed before, it was the dragon who did it, not the girl.”

  “Dragon or no, if you decide to heal this child, I will not stand against you.”

  “I need more than that. I cannot harm the many while helping the few.”

  “I promised to help you dim your shine, and I do not break my promises.”

  “Thank you, Siegfried. As always, I put my trust in your honor.”

  Something about my words must affect him powerfully because his startlingly pure silver eyes darken with emotion. But he does not say anything else, and so I turn my attention back to the child.

  Such a tiny body. Such a fragile life-force.

  I will have to work very carefully with this one.

  I take a few slow, deep breaths, consciously relaxing the muscles of my face, my arms, my shoulders. Then I focus my awareness to a single point, as sharp and fixed as a needle, and I sink it deep into the body of the baby.

  Ah. I remember this. The beautiful logic of the human body. The delicate balance between chaos and order. The stunning mathematical precision that makes up the elements of life.

  I allow my awareness to trickle down through every part of this tiny living creature, until I understand the pattern which guides the stream of life through this form with a cold and certain clarity. After that it is easy to re-direct the flow: to dissolve the tiny out-of-sync elements and to coax the little body into reconstructing and repairing the damage already done. Throughout, my presence in this body is lighter than air. A subtle little nudge here, a gentle push there. It is not I who do the hard work of refashioning this vehicle of life—–it is the child himself, his tiny individual spirit fighting with me, every step of the way, side by side.

  When I am certain that the process which I have set in motion is unstoppable, I get up from the ground.

  “It is done,” I say, stretching my neck. “The child’s body is in complete balance; there is nothing to disrupt the flow of life any longer.”

  “You did it?” Jonathan sounds skeptical.

  “Yes.”

  “But it only took, like, a couple of minutes.”

  “Really?” I look from him to Zig. “It felt a lot longer to me.”

  “How do you feel?” Zig asks, his one hand still resting on my shoulder.

  I think about this. “Fine. Pretty normal, actually. More normal than when I started the Healing.”

  “You sound more normal too,” Jonathan says. “And your shine is almost completely dimmed.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I’m going to lift my hand now,” Zig says. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  When he takes his hand from my shoulder, I experience only the most gentle of shifts. Around me, everything is glowing green with the power of life: undulating in slow, subtle waves, as if the earth itself is breathing.

  But that’s it. A subtle visual disturbance, nothing more and nothing less.

  For the rest I feel totally normal, totally myself.

  “You guys. I think we did it.”

  “Well, you sure as hell didn’t enslave anyone,” Jonathan says as he looks at the baby’s parents. Both of them are still ignoring us almost completely, their tired eyes turned towards the village, desperately hoping that a miracle worker will soon appear to save them.

  Of course. They’re still unaware of their child’s miraculous recovery; after all, how could they know? There were no fireworks, no lightning or drumrolls to announce that a Healing had taken place. All they would’ve seen is two kind but totally unremarkable strangers kneeling next to their sick baby for a few minutes, taking an interest.

  “Wow,” I tell Jonathan. “You’re really good.”

  “It was a team effort.” But he doesn’t hide his smile.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “You’ll still have to use your firemagic to order them home,” Zig says. “They’re not going to leave otherwise. But you’ll have to do it very carefully, using only the tiniest amount. Think you can do it?”

  “Yeah.” I look at the line stretching out behind the couple. “But I mean, what do we do then? After this.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  There are sick men and dying women and suffering children waiting in that line. Ordinary people who have risked everything to see me.

  “Oh my God.” I clap my hand over my mouth, not quite believing what I’m about to say. “I’ll have to Heal the lot of them, won’t I?”

  “Only if you think it’s the right thing to do,” Zig says evenly.


  But then he smiles at me for the very first time, a wide-open grin that transforms his face so completely that he almost looks handsome.

  It turns out to be a very long day.

  And a really good one.

  We spend it going from group to group, careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves. Mostly we speak to two or three people at a time, listening more than talking, getting to know their stories before I, very subtly, use my magic.

  It’s a strange feeling, at first. I’ve gotten so used to viewing my power as a dangerous and destructive force, which I have to suppress at all cost if I don’t want to harm innocent people, that it takes some time before I begin to relax, amazed by the idea that I’m actually helping people with my magic.

  What makes it even better is that I never lose myself again. As the day passes, I begin to feel more and more normal, until there’s hardly a trace of the dragon’s personality left in me. Sure, I still need Zig’s hand on my shoulder whenever I do a Healing or use my firemagic to send people home, but his touch remains light and unthreatening: a practical, efficient anchor to this reality rather than a prison. Jonathan helps too, but as the day passes and my shine becomes less of a threat, his Enthrallment becomes less and less intricate, until it’s nothing more than a simple confusion spell to hide us behind a mask of unremarkable normality.

  We work slowly and methodically, carefully and confidently, and it feels great.

  Wow. No wonder people sacrifice so many years of their lives to become doctors. While it’s a straight-up thrill to stitch flesh together, and to knit bones, and to close wounds, and to dissolve cancerous cells, and to repair wasted organs and reconstruct healthy tissue, it’s even more of a thrill to see the stunned relief on people’s faces when the pain stops. Or the wonder when the body heals. Or the hope when they can finally breathe again, or see, or walk, or remember.

  On a more selfish level, it’s almost just as much of a thrill for me to take pleasure in my magic again. To see it as a gift and a miracle, rather than a curse. To know, without a smidgen of doubt, that I’m more than a monster.

  To know that I can do good.

  Chapter 17

  My brother comes to me one last time.

  “Sister, I bid thee farewell. The fate of humanity is almost upon me.”

  “No! There is still time.”

  “Indeed, there is always time. But not—–alas—–for me. I have lived as a man and must die like a man.”

  “Let me help you, brother.”

  “It is too late now. I made a choice a long time ago, and that choice cannot now be unmade.”

  “You chose as a man, not knowing what the consequences would be.”

  “Oh, I knew. I knew all too well. But at the time my human life stretched out before me like an endless horizon, and I was too hungry to experience the bright, flaming pleasures of the sunrise to worry about the darkness at the day’s end.”

  “Was it worth it, brother? Now, at the close, would you make the same choice again?”

  “I have felt the cool of the rain on my skin, and the warmth of the sun, and the bite of the wind. I have tasted the pleasures of food, and of wine, and of the flesh. I have gone to sleep tired, and woken up refreshed. I have experienced the love of women and the joy of children. I have felt the thrill of the kill, and the pleasures of mastery, and the power of cruelty. I have seen the beauty of the physical world, and its ugliness, and I have been a part of it. It has been a good life, and I cannot now claim that I have been cheated.”

  “You did not answer my question.”

  “No. I did not.”

  “Tell me the truth, brother.”

  “The truth? The truth is that life is hard at its ending. The truth is that, finally, the bitterness of mortality spoils any lingering aftertaste of love, or life, or joy that might otherwise have remained sweet on the tongue. Life comes at the price of death. Not until now—–when it is too late to turn around—–do I understand this terrible truth. Oh, my sister! I have spent so many bitter years condemning the earthborn for their jealousy and their fear. I have hated them, and turned away from them, and sought to distance myself from them as much as I could. But now, at the end, I see that I have judged them too harshly. Human mortality is a bleak and lonely fate, and I do not blame them for trying to fight it so desperately and so treacherously. And thus, to answer your question—–no. It is not a choice I would willingly make again.”

  “Your words sadden me, brother.”

  “You asked, and I answered.”

  “Do you therefore believe that our mission is doomed to failure?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. While a player remains in the game, the outcome must be uncertain. There is still hope.”

  “If that is so, why don’t you see it through?”

  “What exactly are you offering, my sister?”

  “A chance to step back. To join with me. To lose yourself and become a mere knot in the great web once again.”

  “You will do this for me?”

  “If you give me your pledge, I will carry you gladly.”

  “Thank you. Thank you.”

  “So you accept?”

  “With the most humble gratitude. Even if it saddens me to accept this great gift on the same day you have denied it to my children.”

  “It was not I who made that choice. It was the girl. She did not understand.”

  “It is your duty to make her understand.”

  “You played the game your way; I will play it mine.”

  “You are the last player standing. If you lose, we all lose.”

  “I do not intend to lose. Trust me, you will see. The girl is the answer.”

  *

  When I wake up from my resting state, I find that Gunn and the Green Lady have finally returned from their trip to Rome.

  “Hi Jess,” Gunn says, walking into my room the moment I’m showered and fed and ready to face the day. “Good to see you looking well.”

  “Nice to see you too. I was wondering—–”

  “It went better than expected. It probably helped that the White Lady wasn’t there to spread her poison, but I suspect that even if she had been at the meeting, she wouldn’t have been able to hurt you too much. With every single Green now solidly on your side—–”

  “Gunn.” I interrupt him as soon as I can get a word in edgewise. “That’s great to know, really, but we’ll have to talk about the meeting later. I need to speak to the Green Lady immediately.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “I don’t have a choice. It’s really urgent.”

  “What is this about?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Let’s go.”

  He gives me a strange, almost hurt look, but he doesn’t move. Which is a problem. After spending so much time with Jonathan and Zig, I’ve forgotten just how big Gunn is, but the truth is that his huge body is blocking my way out the door as effectively as a freaking boulder.

  “Gunn. I really need to go.”

  “Okay.” He steps out of my way, deliberately, as if making a point. “You’re the boss.”

  When I open the door, I expect to see Zig leaning against the opposite railing in that deceptively casual way of his, but the walkway is entirely empty.

  “What happened to Zig?”

  “Concerned about your new best friend?”

  “He’s not my new best friend.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  I stop to look up at him. “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem? Why would I have a problem? You’re the one who decided to become best buddies with a fucking slayer.” He gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “You do realize what that guy’s basic job description is, right? His entire purpose in life is to kill you one day!”

  “Actually, a slayer’s basic duty is to protect humanity.”

  “For God’s sake, Jess!” Gunn slams a fist into his open hand, his eyes flashing blue fire. “I can’t belie
ve you let him get to you like that! Don’t you realize what he’s trying to do? You’ve let him past all your defenses; he knows everything about you now. Do you think he won’t use that information?”

  “I know what Zig is, Gunn.”

  “Do you really? Because all that stuff about protecting humanity is just a load of crap, okay? He’s a trained killer, a stone-cold murdering machine—–raised not to feel, not to empathize, not to form any human connections whatsoever.”

  “Zig can’t help the way he was raised.”

  “I can’t believe this.” He runs his hand through his hair while he inhales slowly. “The moment I turn my back for one second, a fucking slayer is suddenly your BFF, holding your hand while you do your little miracles. Have you gone insane?”

  “He didn’t hold my hand—–”

  “Don’t you realize what he’s doing? He’s making you trust him. And like him. He’s making you think he’s your friend.”

  I shrug. “Well, I do kind of trust him.”

  “Exactly. And when the moment comes, when it’s finally you against him—–do you think he will be the one to hesitate? It’s a fucking strategy, Jess! This so-called ‘trust’ he’s building now is nothing but a time-bomb, a slow poison that will paralyze you at the precise moment when you need to act quickly and decisively.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I say, despite the cold shiver suddenly running down my back. “I’ll explain everything to you later. But right now I just don’t have the time. I need to see the Green Lady and it really can’t wait.”

  We find the Green Lady in the central clearing, surrounded by children. One of them is the little boy who translated my words to his people, but when I wave at him, he frowns as if confused and turns away.

  “Hello Jess. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

  The Green Lady is dressed in a simple linen shift dress, and she looks so elegant that, if it wasn’t for the strange necklace of feathers and teeth around her neck, she could’ve posed for a stock photo of ‘stylish older woman’ on any website in the world.

  “I need to talk to you in private.”

  She raises an eyebrow at my tone before making a quick motion that sends the kids scampering off into the forest. “I trust you feel adequately refreshed after your rest?”