Land Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  Chapter 45

  The Tower

  While standing beside the animal pens as Kyja and Screech loaded rotten apples into baskets, Marcus’s eyes had kept slipping toward the upward jutting spire of the tower—his mind returning to the dream, trying to understand it, to decode it. More and more, he was coming to believe the zentan was right in assuming Master Therapass had taken something. Whatever he’d removed was hidden somewhere up there. Part of him wanted to run away screaming in terror at the recollection of how Farworld had trembled before him in his nightmare.

  But another part of him wondered what was so powerful that it could make an entire world fear him—a kid with his magic stolen, a leg that barely held him up, and only one good arm. And if the item was that dangerous, why had Therapass bothered to hide it at all? Why not destroy it? And why send him the dream? It was almost as if the wizard wanted Marcus to go into the tower—as if he was tempting him to see what it might hold.

  Whatever Marcus found there—if he found anything at all—he’d never use it against Farworld. Of that much he was certain. But if the item was that powerful, could it be used for good instead of evil? Could it be turned against the Dark Circle? Maybe that’s what Master Therapass was trying to tell him. He could hear the battle raging below as the Keepers fought the stone wizards and warriors—as citizen fought citizen for control of a single city. Who knew how this battle would end? And the next? And the one after that?

  Soon the battles would spread; they’d fight over more than cities. The Dark Circle was getting stronger. Farworld was crying out in pain at what was being done to it—and that pain echoed through Marcus’s body. What if he could use the item in the tower to stop all the battles at once—gaining victory over the forces of darkness without raising a sword?

  Should he go or stay?

  Look for whatever it was, or leave it where the wizard had hidden it? Every time Marcus tore his gaze away from the structure, which reminded him more and more of a skeletal finger reaching into the darkness, he resolved to stay outside. Then his gaze would drift back, and again he’d start to wonder.

  Torn between fear and desire, he followed Kyja into the stone passageway. As soon as he set foot in the tower, his worries began to disappear. As he walked across the hay-strewn floor, an odd separation of mind and body occurred. With each step, the pain in his hip diminished until it felt as if he were no longer moving his legs at all, but merely floating forward.

  They reached the kitchen, and Kyja crossed through an arched doorway with Cascade, Riph Raph, and Screech. Instead of following her, Marcus found himself turning down another hallway lit by flickering torches. He passed door after door, but none of them interested him. Whatever he was looking for was not behind any of them.

  An icy fist—half-horror, half-grieving acceptance—slammed into his stomach when he looked up and saw the spiraling staircase. He’d been meant to come here all along. Just like he had in his dream, he climbed the stairs one by one. Through the tower windows, the fighting continued below, but the sounds seemed farther away—less urgent. He didn’t know if it was because of his distance from the battle or because the item called to him with greater and greater urgency the closer he got to it.

  He had no idea how many steps he climbed or how long it took him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware of sweat streaming down his forehead, of his limbs trembling as he pushed his body far past what it should have been able to withstand. But all of that was unimportant. The only thing that mattered was what was waiting for him—calling him, singing to him as he’d sung to the tribrac. Only this song was not about fairies and brave battles. It was much simpler.

  Come to me. Find me. Make me yours.

  The song pulled him like a noose tied around his neck. He followed with no more hope of stopping it than he had of stopping gravity.

  When he felt the cold night air blowing down the stairs and realized he was nearing the balcony, he made one last desperate try to think for himself. This wasn’t like the dream, this was the dream. Lightning flashed outside, and thunder roared, growling like a wild animal. If he stepped onto those wet stones, he’d see exactly what had been in his dream—a world terrified—of him.

  A voice shouted his name from somewhere down the staircase. He understood he didn’t have to do this; he could still turn back if he wanted to and end this nightmare. He could wait for Therapass. The wizard would know what to do.

  Except, somehow Marcus was already standing on the balcony. While he’d been trying to decide what to do, his feet had made the decision for him.

  I am the door, the voice in his head sang at a fevered pitch. Open me. Open me. Open-n-n-n. The air shrank around him, crackled blue and spread. He was the key, and by coming here, he had opened a lock meant only for him. He stepped through.

  At first Kyja thought Marcus was lagging behind again. He’d seemed strangely remote ever since they entered the tower, as if his thoughts were somewhere else. But as she retraced her steps to the dining room, then all the way to the kitchen, she realized he was really gone.

  “What does it matter?” Riph Raph groused. “He probably got distracted by a coat of arms or something. We don’t have time to waste.”

  “He’s right,” Cascade said. “The guards may return any minute. The Keepers will discover you’ve escaped and come looking for you.”

  “The unmakers are active.” Screech shuddered. “I can feel them.”

  Kyja knew all those things, but it wasn’t like Marcus to just wander off. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where would he have g—”

  Her eyes opened wide. She knew where he’d gone—she should have realized it as soon as she noticed him missing. “He’s heading for the balcony.”

  “In the rain?” Riph Raph flapped his ears. “He’s even dumber than I thought. He’ll get soaked up there, and the view has to be terrible.”

  Kyja slapped at the skyte. “He’s not going there for the view. It’s his nightmare. He goes to the balcony, and then something awful happens.” She turned to Cascade and Screech. “I need you to free Master Therapass yourselves.”

  “Of course,” Screech said.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Cascade asked. “I sense something powerful waiting above.”

  “No. I need you to unlock Master Therapass’s cell. As soon as you do, send him to the balcony. I think he knows more about whatever’s up there than anyone. Riph Raph, fly up to see if Marcus is there yet.”

  “I’m unchained lighting,” Riph Raph shouted, shooting into the air.

  Kyja pushed the bushel of apples into Cascade’s arms and ran for the stairs. How could she have let this happen? She knew Marcus was upset about entering the tower, but she’d been so focused on freeing Master Therapass that she’d completely forgotten about his nightmare.

  “Who’s there?” a guard called as she passed the entryway, but she raced into the kitchen—the quickest way to the stairs—without looking back.

  She was sure she could catch up to Marcus once she reached the stairs—there was no way he could make it to the balcony without stopping to rest a few times. But each time she stopped to listen for him and call his name, no answer came. At the halfway point, she was gasping for breath, but still couldn’t hear the familiar tapping of Marcus’s staff.

  Had she missed him somehow? He couldn’t possibly have come this far so fast in his condition. Maybe he hadn’t gone up the stairs at all. What if he’d gone back outside the tower to wait? She’d nearly decided to turn back when she caught the first faint sounds of someone climbing the stairs above her.

  “Marcus!” she screamed, her voice echoing. The only answer was the rolling crash of thunder.

  A bedraggled Riph Raph flew down the narrow staircase, water dripping from his wings. “He’s already on the balcony,” the skyte called. “I tried to stop him, but it was like he couldn’t hear me.”

  Kyja raced up the stairs again, sweat pouring down her face. She was almost to the t
op. “Marcus, stop!”

  Cold air blew her hair from her face. She could hear the tap, tap, tap of wood on stone. With the last of her energy, she raced up the final stairs and ran to the balcony door. Marcus stood outside. Water poured from the sky in a torrent, slicking his hair to his head and turning his blue robe black. He didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were fixed on a shining column of white light. Floating in the middle of it was what looked like a gauntlet. Purple and silver sparks leaped from the armored glove as it slowly turned.

  “Stop,” Kyja cried. Whatever that thing was, it seemed to have Marcus hypnotized. She had to keep him from reaching for it.

  She stepped out onto the balcony to tackle Marcus if she had to. But before she could reach him, a figure moved behind her. Seeing the motion, she turned, but something heavy hit her on the back of the neck, and she collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter 46

  Innoris a’Gentoran

  In some attic corner of his brain, Marcus sensed he was not alone on the balcony. That knowledge was rendered trivial by the power of what floated before him. Encased in a pillar of white light so bright it seared his eyes and burned the thick black clouds overhead, a gauntlet blazed with a violet splendor as though composed of millions of tiny amethysts. Sparks of purple and silver shot from its surface as it pulsed with the rhythm of his heart.

  Instinctively, Marcus understood it was meant for him, that it had been placed here in anticipation of his arrival. By whom or by what, he didn’t know—and didn’t care. His appearance had drawn it from its hiding place. He reached his hand into the light; the brightness raced up his arms and over his body until he glowed like a beacon, burning in the night.

  He stretched forth his hand, and a purple flicker jumped from the gauntlet to his fingertip. Energy surged through him as if he’d just been wired to a generator of enormous potential. Strength flowed through his limbs, and every hair on his body stood at attention. Yet he’d felt only a tiny spark. What sort of power might the gauntlet itself hold?

  Be careful, a voice warned in his head. But he couldn’t be careful. He couldn’t have pulled back now even if his life depended on it. And it very well might. No human body was meant to have this kind of power. He pushed his hand forward, slipping it into the gauntlet.

  The glove closed around his fingers, fitting his hand every bit as perfectly as he knew it would.

  “How does it feel?” asked a voice from behind him.

  Marcus turned to see Zentan Dolan standing in the doorway.

  “How does it feel to hold the power of a world in your hand?” The zentan stepped forward, his eager face illuminated by the light shining from Marcus’s body. With the strength of the gauntlet flowing through him, Marcus understood two things.

  He realized that despite having a human form, Zentan Dolan was not human. And he understood where the Keeper got his magic.

  The zentan’s pale face broke into a smile. Thousands of glowing violet lines radiated from his body into the darkness. Each line pulsed and glowed in faint imitation of the gauntlet.

  Marcus watched the violet lines. “Those all lead to people you’ve scaled, don’t they? You’re drawing their magic from them.”

  “Of course.”

  Marcus looked out over the balcony. He wasn’t surprised to see all of the Keepers with violet lines extending from them as well. “Did you give any of the magic away to others, or was the whole rebalancing concept a scam?”

  “A scam?” the zentan frowned. “No, not at all. I promised magic would be rebalanced from those who couldn’t use it to those who could. I did exactly that. As it turned out, I am the one best equipped to use it.”

  “What about the people you promised magic to? Didn’t they wonder why their power never increased?”

  The zentan laughed aloud, his guffaws echoing into the night. “That was the beauty of it. They thought they were more powerful. They thanked me for increasing their magic. Said they felt better than they had in years. And the few who didn’t ended up with the harbingers—at least, until you came along.”

  Marcus flexed his fingers inside the gauntlet the tiniest bit. Somewhere in the distance, a mountain shifted on its foundation. He shivered. What could he do if he waved his hand? Sink cities, reshape landscapes, move continents? “What are you?” he asked Dolan.

  “Does it matter?” the zentan answered, and Marcus realized it didn’t. Dolan’s eyes glittered like steel in the night. “Do you understand what you have?”

  Marcus nodded slowly. “This gauntlet is what you’ve been trying to find. It’s what you’ve been searching for.”

  “Innoris a’Gentoran—the Hand of Life. It’s why I came here in the first place. Not just to this city, but to this world, over two hundred years ago. It was stolen from me.”

  Marcus was afraid to move for fear of what he might do with the power without meaning to. Wearing the gauntlet was like being a giant in a world of ants. One wrong move of his wrist might cause tornadoes, hurricanes, or tidal waves. He looked from the glove to Dolan. “It does what you’ve tried to do with the snifflers—it takes other people’s magic—doesn’t it? Except it draws on the magic from all the people in the world at the same time.”

  “That . . . and so much more,” the zentan said. “Those elemental friends of yours think they control magic. But the real control is the power to bend magic to your will. I can show you how to use it. I can teach you.”

  Now it was Marcus’s turn to laugh. “You mean, take it from me? I don’t think so.”

  “Not until you’re ready to give it up. I’ve waited over two hundred years to find it. What are a few more? I swear I won’t touch it until you are finished with it.”

  Marcus knew the zentan was telling the truth—did wearing the Innoris a’Gentoran grant him the ability to tell when someone was lying? On the other hand, he knew he wasn’t getting the whole truth. “As soon as you got your hands on it, you’d destroy me.”

  “Why would I do that? I don’t care about you or your world. The only reason I’m here is to get what was taken from me. I’ll help you accomplish anything you desire. Then, when you’re finished shaping this world after your design, I’ll take my property and leave. You have my word.” The zentan’s eyes glittered as he spoke with a silky voice. “I can show you how to destroy the Dark Circle.”

  Marcus blinked. “Is that . . . possible?”

  “Look inside yourself. You know it is.”

  Marcus closed his eyes, allowing the power of the gauntlet to flow through him, and for the first time, he really saw. All his life he’d assumed he was seeing everything there was to see. But his eyes were limited; they showed him only what was on the surface, a tiny fraction of what was really there. Through the Hand of Life, though, he could see underneath.

  Not just inside rocks, trees, and animals—although he saw those, too—but he could see their relationships. How a falling rock caused an avalanche that moved a stream that undercut a bank that toppled a tree that hit a woodcutter, causing him to lose a limb that cost him his wife, who met a man that started a battle that led to a war that . . .

  The interactions between one thing and another were endless—everything shaped the things around them. He saw them all—cataloging them through the eyes of the woodcutter and his wife, the bark of the tree that fell, the flake of the rock which caused the avalanche, all at the same time. Even more than that, he realized how he could reshape the events. With no more than a breath, he could restore the man’s limb. His wife would never have left.

  And the war that costs hundreds of lives between two cities would never have taken place.

  It wasn’t as if he would need to go back in time, because now he could see time as just another relationship—as flexible as all the others. At first he thought maybe this was the way Cascade saw, and his temper flared as he wondered why the water elemental had never shared this with him. But then he realized that what he saw and felt was beyond what any creature or elemental experienced
.

  His gaze fell on an army of Fallen Ones far to the north. He traced them back to the Summoner who’d raised them, which led to an army of Thrathkin S’Bae marching toward a border town, which took him back to the lair of the Dark Circle itself, and the creature who led it. For a moment, Marcus felt himself slipping into the creature’s head and gasped with surprise. He’d assumed the Dark Circle wanted to destroy Farworld. But that wasn’t their intention all.

  It wasn’t destruction the Dark Circle wanted but . . .

  “The scales have fallen from your eyes.” The zentan nodded. “What will you do about it?”

  “I have to stop them,” Marcus gasped.

  Zentan Dolan held out his hands, palms up. “What’s stopping you?”

  “I don’t know how,” he admitted. He no longer needed to close his eyes to see, but there were too many relationships to keep of track of—too many variables changing every time he considered an option. Killing the creature that headed the Dark Circle was easy. But another would take his place. Even if he destroyed all of them—the Fallen Ones, the Summoner, the Thrathkin S’Bae, that would only stop things for a century or two. Like cutting off the heads of a hydra, the Dark Circle would rise again no matter what he did.

  “Perhaps you’re looking at it from the wrong direction,” the zentan said.

  “I don’t understand.” Marcus shivered.

  “There’s one relationship you’ve overlooked.”

  What was Dolan talking about? No matter what Marcus did, the Dark Circle would keep coming back. They were only going to get more powerful. And if he and Kyja continued on their course, they were playing right into the Dark Circle’s hands. The only way he could stop them would be—

  Inside the gauntlet, Marcus’s hand clenched, and thunder ripped through the sky like a fiery sword. The relationship was so obvious, he didn’t see how he’d missed it. He couldn’t stop the Dark Circle no matter how he attacked it. Farworld was inherently vulnerable—like an egg before a snake.