Esra

by Nicole Burr

  “Once the choice is made to become a Keeper, one cannot go back. The training is secretive, out of necessity of course, and fairly dangerous. It involves magick and weapons, both intellectual and physical, to be used in the defensive and offensive. A Keeper’s lessons are broad enough to encompass most aspects of the battlefield and the mind. But each Keeper has a particular “gift”, something that they are especially talented in, that we are able to use against the Elites. Ye may have a Keeper of Flame, one accomplished in Fire tactics, who can bend this element to their will, control it. And a Keeper of Voice, one who can imitate with perfection the sound or speech of any Animal, Human, or even nonliving object. Gifts, ye see. There are countless types of skills; some are more physical, while others have more of a mental or emotional element. And some skills are not as battle focused as others. Fer example, there is a Keeper of Merry, one who has a remarkable knack fer enticing laughter. I have met him, and I must say he is one very funny man.”

  Esra thought of the absurdity of this situation, of this serious man, her teacher, talking about a merry man when he had just assaulted her in the town. Maybe he has finally lost his mind, she pondered. The irony of the situation seemed to be lost on Cane, and he continued unaffected.

  “Ye will find that five is the most important number to Keepers. There are five Great Keepers, five skills of magic, five skills of war and five people in a group, referred to as an Assembly. Keepers always travel in groups of five to complete their tasks. The leader of the group is distinguished by rank according to how many tests they’ve accomplished.

  “Tests are individual assignments that are only given when a Great Keeper feels that a member is ready fer it. These are different from what we call tasks, which are much more common. These tasks are sometimes highly dangerous, such as entering into enemy encampments to collect information. Other times, tasks are simply to gather a new Keeper when reports are heard of a small girl in a town who is “acting strangely” and causing droughts wherever she goes. She would be the Keeper of Rain.

  “Those in training have to pass only one test before they will be given a group, or Assembly, of other Keepers to work with. The Assembly usually stays the same unless one of the members is needed fer another task, or unfortunately, if someone should die. Rank is established by how many tests a Keeper can pass. Most have two or three, with a small amount able to complete four.

  “The leader of an Assembly is the one with the highest number, usually a Three and very rarely a Four. If there are two with the same number then a Great Keeper must choose who will lead. This is usually achieved without much insult, as Keepers are encouraged to be humble and respectful. Their only goal is to complete their tasks, and it is never done by harming the innocent or alerting them of our ways.

  “The Elites are not so lucky in the sense of natural abilities. They believe that the Keepers skills are hard to train and control, in which they would be correct. They do not seek out those with special talents, only on very rare occasions. Instead, they prefer the method of forced magick, where a non-magick person is infused with the knowledge and power of sorcery. This act was unheard of before Tallen. Normally they would have to make do with whatever natural sorcerers decided to join their cause, or those they could terrorize into it. This ‘turning’ is one of the things that makes Tallen so dangerous.”

  “So are they still Human?”

  “The Elites? Yes, or at least they were at some point. Now they hardly resemble what ye or I would call a person. They have been twisted physically and mentally by the conversion forced upon them by Tallen. These sorcerers have been imbued with powers unnatural to them, and the soldiers are also given various Herbs and overwhelmed with spells believed to build strength and dull pain. But it is also important to know that most of the Elites are skilled warriors, not sorcerers.”

  “But why?’ Esra asked. “Why not make everyone a sorcerer?”

  “Well, the process by which one is infused with magickal ability is not an easy one, and it cannot be done on everyone. There are a few simple tests, I believe, to see if they are capable of undergoing the change. It was not always this way. Tallen used to simply try to turn everyone, and most of them perished or went mad. It was then he discovered that he needed to be more selective on who he changed. So there are usually only a few sorcerers fer every hundred soldiers.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” she offered anxiously.

  “Trust me, the warriors are formidable enough. The effect of all of these castings upon the soldiers, to Tallen’s great pleasure, is that their aggression is severely heightened and their sense of pain very low. The Elite sorcerers also have the advantage of numbers and are able to use multiple people to work the same magick, increasing its effect. The advantage of the Keepers has always been that the skills are more varied and creative, so we are sometimes able to catch them off guard with a skill they cannot match or counter.”

  “What do ye mean we?” Esra’s voice sounded shrill and small in the large room.

  “There are five Great Keepers. They are, I believe ye could say, the Keepers of the Keepers. They are immortal, and are the most revered of any sorcerer. The only way a Great Keeper can perish is if they choose to pass on their responsibilities to another Keeper who has passed all five tests. And that is not something that happens every day. It can be generations, sometimes hundreds of years before a new Great Keeper comes along. Because of their extraordinary power, ye may be wondering why the Great Ones do not just take care of Tallen and the Elites on their own. The truth is, they could if they were allowed. But to directly interfere with the Human world would forfeit the lives of all five Great Keepers forever. Ye can imagine that this would not be an intelligent decision. Instead they choose to pass on gifts and knowledge, in the hopes that our rebellion will triumph.

  “It is said that one day a Keeper will come who has a chance to end it all, to destroy Tallen and the Elites and bring peace to the land. The Keepers place all their hope upon this one person, it is what allows them to continue to fight in the face of adversity, when hope seems to have been lost.”

  Esra’s head was spinning. She felt slightly faint at all of this information bombarding her at once. All she wanted to do was lay down and scratch these awful rashes until they bled.

  “Ye say that there are five Great Keepers. Who are they? Are they Human?” She was struggling to comprehend.

  “Aye, they are Human, or Elvish. There is The Keeper of War, The Keeper of Magick, The Keeper of Strength, and The Keeper of Destiny. All possess different abilities; all assign different types of tests to a Keeper who is ready fer the next step. Once a test is completed, the Great Keeper then bestows a “Gift” upon the member, a contribution to help in their fight. The Gifts are always a physical item of sorts that contain some magical element to aid the user mentally or physically, like a bracelet or stone. And the Gifts are never alike. It is known though, that the better the Gift from one of the Great Keepers, the greater the strength and skill the bestowed upon will be. Usually after the first test we are able to guess who will be a Fifth, or group leader, by seeing what they receive.”

  Esra’s arms were burning furiously now. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. “But ye said there were five Great Keepers and ye only listed four. Who is the fifth? And how do ye know fer sure who is a Keeper and who is not?”

  “Ye can tell who is a Keeper by the markings on the inside of their arms. It resembles a rash at first, and represents when the person is being called by the Great Keepers fer their turn, their time to train. And the fifth Great Keeper is The Keeper of Truth, the one who has all knowledge. He goes by the Human name of Cane and has spent the last few years training an important new apprentice fer her first test.”

  He grabbed a small scroll from his desk and hastily stuffed it into the pocket of her cloak. “And now, my dear Esra, ye must trust me that ye should do and think of only one thing. Run.”

  IX

  The on
ly sound was the pounding of Esra’s feet inside her head as she scrambled into the forest behind Sorley. Run, he had said, run into the woods and hide. Do not, under any circumstances, come back here. Do not go to yer home. Run far away and hide in the woods until either I or one of yer grandparents come to ye. Ye are in danger, Esra, and ye must flee like yer life depends on it.

  And run she did. The panic in her was quite real now; she had absorbed that much from the look on Cane’s face. Who she ran from or what she needed to be afraid of was unclear. But her teacher had never been more serious than as he spoke those words to her. Run.

  The forest was at the time of fading night where everything was grey and Esra’s eyes were still adjusting to the dim light. The ground was soft with the excess of spring rain, and the Trees were the pale green of new growth. She could hear the high pitched snapping of twigs behind her as she scrambled up the slight incline that would put the town out of sight behind her. The sound of heavy footsteps fell close by, haunting her. The tight muscles in her legs were already protesting against the exertion. Esra’s curiosity was almost overwhelming but she could not stop running. A branch whipped across her face and she tasted a faint hint of metal as a trail of blood ran from her cheek to the corner of her open, panting mouth. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, and she was momentarily grateful that she had worn her new heavy leather boots and not the soft soled walking ones.

  The forest behind Sorley was not nearly as vast as Fira Nadim, but they were large enough that someone unfamiliar with them could get lost for the better part of a day. Esra wound swiftly through the maze of Trees, her footsteps making a steady rhythm in her head, pushing her onward.

  There were shouts from behind Esra, who strained to make out exactly what was being said without turning around. The only thing she could comprehend was that they sounded angry. She wanted desperately to look backwards, to see if her pursuers were close on her heels or if she were gaining any ground. Perhaps get a look at one of them, figure out who they were. But she dared not slow. A Rabbit darted out from the underbrush to the right of her, panicked by the sudden noise as she shot past.

  Esra veered left suddenly, trying to lose her pursuers, when she caught a glimpse of someone up ahead. They were sprinting at her almost as furiously as she was running towards them. Her mind frozen with fear, she could still hear the uneven pound of numerous footsteps behind her, three or four people, maybe more. Panicked, she quickly decided that she would continue running straight at the man ahead and swerve right at the last minute.

  The space between them closing in quickly, she realized there was something very familiar in the man’s form. Trying to focus her eyes in the glowing dark, it was a moment before Esra could see that the shape in front of her was in fact Baelin. How he knew she was out here, she didn’t know, but her gratitude in finding him gave her new energy, and she sprinted towards him with all her might.

  The look on Baelin’s face was one of fury, and it took Esra only a moment to comprehend that he was carrying a large staff in both his hands, and coming straight at her. Oh no. For a moment she wasn’t sure if her old friend could be trusted. The sheer terror of his menacing figure was enough to have Esra decide her plan should be administered early and she veered right, aiming for a small gap between two Birch Trees.

  She made it through, but her right shoulder caught on a large branch and whipped her around with such force that she plowed into the ground and bounced heavily. Scrambling to her knees, she heard the scraping of metal against metal as Baelin met with her first pursuer, tearing open his dark breastplate with one upwards sweeping motion. Without pause, he swung around to stab the second man in the chest, pulling out the blade-ended staff quickly to deflect an oncoming blow. Esra was paralyzed on the ground as the first man clutched his stomach in a feeble attempt to staunch the flow of blood. She could see in the distance that more of these men were coming, perhaps ten or twelve more, and they were faster than an average person should be. The soldiers were clad in dark metal armor with a red line down the center of the breastplate, and a helmet that completely obscured their faces. These were certainly no guards of the King.

  “Esra, run!” Baelin turned to her and bellowed with such rage that she snapped her head around and forced her legs to pull her upright. After a few stumbling steps, she found that the panic in her was renewed, and she willed her body on with fervor. With the noises retreating behind her, Esra tore through the forest and put all of her thoughts into one focus. Run, run, run, run. Her mind sang in time with the slap of her feet on the ground. Another branch tore across her face, this time catching her in the eye. She didn’t stop as the tears flowed down her face, her lungs feeling as if they were about to burst.

  A pain suddenly ripped through her right side and there were flashes of dark shapes swirling in front of her. All of the breath left her body in one large gush as she slammed against the forest floor. Esra thought for a moment that she had run into something, and it was a long moment before she realized that it was a well-aimed staff that had hit her. She tried to roll over, knowing she had to protect herself, but she was so dazed that she could not discern which way she was facing. There was nothing but pain; all her senses became dulled as she was overwhelmed with it. Nothing mattered in that next moment besides this pain, and she cradled her arms around her stomach to try and soothe the shock to her body. Esra had the vague impression of someone large looming over her, and she squinted hazily as that one body was joined by a multitude of other blurred shapes. Her head was filled with a steady pounding in her ears, and she wondered briefly if the man standing above her could hear her heartbeat as loudly as she.

  We’ve got her, one of the shapes said. Feisty little wretch, ain’t she?

  Esra tried to form a coherent thought. She knew she was in danger but she could not seem to move anything, or see correctly, for that matter. White flashes of lights floated before her eyes, and the pain in her side took on a new surge of ferocity as she recovered her breath.

  Get her up, another one said, we have to get moving.

  Did ye kill the other one? The first shape asked.

  No, we’ll deal with him later. Our first order of business is to get this little miss to her master.

  Master? Esra thought. The other one? A sense of relief flooded over her as she realized that at least for the moment, Baelin was alive and they were not going to kill her. She moaned in anguish as a violent burning exploded over her midsection. It felt like she was on Fire.

  Ye were supposed to stop her, not break her in half, one of them snapped angrily.

  Details, details.

  An excruciating pain raked through Esra’s body as she was lifted to her feet. The vague shapes began to come into focus, and she watched as two men came to support her from either side. She could feel both of her legs now, and her arms, but she was quite sure that a few of her ribs had been broken. Each breath was causing blinding pain. Giving in unwillingly to exhaustion, she leaned heavily on each of the men.

  We need to go. Move, the leader said. She thought furiously of what she should do. But after attempting to take only a couple of steps, it was obvious that Esra would not be walking anywhere. Another man came from behind a Tree and reached into his pocket.

  Here, this will make things a little easier, he said as he withdrew a small vial from his cloak. The man on her left grabbed her hair and jerked her head back as the other poured a bitter liquid down her throat. She coughed and sputtered violently, but the man held a firm grasp on her hair, forcing her to swallow most of the foul concoction.

  Don’t worry, by the time I count to three, this little lady will be dead weight, and ye can carry her upside down if ye’d like.

  Esra’s mind was growing cloudy, her limbs suddenly seeming very heavy. She struggled to hold on to consciousness, but her thoughts seemed to be slipping away.

  One…two…

  Darkness.

  X

  Esra awoke to a chorus of raucous laughter
erupting on her left. Feeling the sharp poke of uneven Earth beneath her, she struggled to comprehend why in the world she was lying on the ground outside and not in her bed at home. Then she remembered. Cane and his frantic warning, the men with the dark armor chasing her through the forest, Baelin and his staff. Everything around her was black, and for a second she panicked, thinking the potion had left her blind. But after blinking hard a few times she could barely make out the stars poking through the thick shroud of Trees. It was nighttime and she was still in the forest. Although this was vaguely reassuring, she had no idea just how long she’d been unconscious.

  Trying to rotate towards the sound of voices, she felt a restraining pull on her ankles and wrists. They’ve got me bound, she thought miserably. Rocking back, an explosive pain seared through her right side and she gasped in shock. The staff hit had certainly left her with more than just a bad bruise. She wished vehemently for her grandparents, knew that they would certainly be missing her by now. Surely they would send someone to get her? Then again, she was unsure of what was going on, and maybe these people had captured them as well.

  Gritting her teeth, Esra was finally able to gain enough courage and momentum to roll over to her other side. A couple dozen men lounged around a Fire burning in the center of a hastily built camp. Some were eating, some dozing, but most were listening intently to one man as he waved his hands frantically, telling some sort of a story about hunting Vernok. The men erupted into laughter, not noticing that their prisoner was awake. Strewn about the camp were the pieces of dark metal armor with the red line down the front of the breastplates. The helmets that had covered every inch of their faces now lay at their sides, although she could not see much past the glare of the Fire.

  That’s pretty bold of them to build a Fire, she thought. Maybe we’re far enough away that it doesn’t matter if they create smoke. Who knows how long that potion knocked me out fer? Either that or they’re too stupid or arrogant to care if someone sees them.