The Keeper

by Natasha Mostert

  Why had he lied to her?

  The question hovered on the tip of her tongue the next day when he came in for his appointment. But now she was presented with an interesting challenge: how to explain that she knew he had a tat without revealing herself as a Peeping Thomasina?

  ‘So why have you never had a tattoo done before?’ She pressed down on the switch and Angelique started to hum.

  ‘I’ve never been tempted. Or maybe I just wanted to wait for the right tattoo artist to come along.’

  He smiled at her and she smiled back. She shouldn’t be so judgemental, she chided herself. He probably had his reasons for not telling her. It was a small lie, after all.

  She placed Angelique close to his skin.

  A small lie, really. Of no importance.

  • • •

  Summer was edging into autumn. Dusk came a little earlier, and sometimes when Mia woke in the mornings she would give a small startled shiver at the chill that nipped the air. But it still seemed as though the golden days would never end.

  And then came the phone call from Okie and everything changed.

  STEPPING OUT

  ‘Human perception occur[s] because of interactions between the subatomic particles of our brains and the quantum energy sea.’

  —Lynne McTaggart, The Field: The Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Nick touched his fingers to his reflection in the mirror. He turned his head first to one side and then to the other. He had the strangest feeling that he was looking at another man, not himself. His face seemed inscrutable, even to his own eyes. His body had changed as well. His abs were hard and he had not an ounce of fat on him. In fact, he knew he would probably never achieve this level of fitness ever again in his life.

  Ash was adding new dimensions to his training every day. Lately they had focused on breathing. The first time Ash made him take the Wu Chi position, Nick felt idiotic. But things had changed. Yesterday, he had experienced a sensation unlike anything before.

  He and Ash were in the dojo. It was very early—only a few minutes past five in the morning—and they were alone. He had just completed a full cycle of Gates of Life movements and had moved on to the closing minutes, sealing in the energy he had allowed to pass through the portal. He was resting in the position Ash had taught him: eyelids lowered, knees unlocked and his feet taking the full weight of his body. His right palm was on his lower abdomen and the left hand rested on top of the right.

  Next to him was a window and he sensed, rather than saw, the clouds racing behind the glass pane with its overlay of dust. Suddenly, a shaft of sunlight slashed through the grime like a knife. At the same moment he had the extraordinary sensation that he could reach inside his body and touch every organ. For one single moment the static inside his mind was wiped clean and he felt connected to the world around him as if through a massive web of spider’s silk.

  The sensation was so unexpected and strong, he gasped. Looking up, he saw Ash watching him intently and then nodding as though understanding exactly what had happened. But they hadn’t spoken about it afterwards and Nick was glad. Describing the experience would be like pulling the petals off a flower in an attempt to understand its beauty. And truth to tell, he felt rather spooked as well. This kind of thing was not where the grunts lived. This was vogue territory.

  ‘Nick.’

  He turned round. Okie was standing in the doorway of the changing room, grinning at him.

  ‘Hey, you.’ Nick walked over and hugged him hard. ‘Are you back?’

  ‘Yup. Rib’s mended and JC’s lifted the ban.’

  ‘That’s great news.’

  Okie opened his locker and pushed his satchel inside with a satisfied smile. From one corner of the bag protruded a paperback. Desperate Hearts. Okie’s reading tastes had not changed during his absence.

  ‘I wanted to check with you, Nick. You still want me in your corner on the night of the fight, right?’

  ‘Of course. Can’t do it without you, mate.’

  ‘Great.’ Okie looked pleased. ‘So, how about us hitting the road again together? Can I pick you up tomorrow morning?’

  Nick hesitated.

  ‘What?’ Okie frowned. ‘You think I won’t be able to keep up?’

  ‘I’ve been training hard, Okie.’

  ‘I’m fit, man. I may not have been working the bag, but I cycled my arse off during the past few weeks. My fitness level is high, I promise.’

  Nick was surprised at how reluctant he was to let Okie in on his training sessions with Ash. He had a strong feeling Ash would not welcome company either.

  Okie slammed the locker door shut. ‘OK, I get it. You have a new training buddy now.’

  ‘It’s not that, Okie.’

  ‘I think it is.’ Okie shook his head vehemently, making the dreadlocks dance. ‘But forget it.’

  Nick felt bad. ‘It’s just until the fight, Okie, OK? No hard feelings?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ But Okie wasn’t looking him in the eye.

  ‘Okie—’

  ‘JC’s waiting.’ Okie turned his back and walked to the door.

  Nick lifted his hand as if to reach out, but then let it fall by his side. He would make it up to Okie. It was only until the fight, after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Mia gently patted Ash’s skin with a paper towel. ‘Next week will be your last appointment and you’ll be all done. Now, remember…’

  ‘I know. Keep the dressing on until tomorrow.’

  The phone rang. Not wishing to render her gloves unsterile, Mia left the machine to pick up.

  ‘Mia!’ The tinny quality of the answering machine couldn’t disguise the enthusiasm in Okie’s voice. ‘You there? No? OK, great news: I have a fight! Yeah! Sunday at Lancaster Tavern. So remember to dream of me, little one. OK?’

  Mia hastily grabbed at the phone, glancing at Ash and wondering what on earth he must be thinking.

  ‘Okie? How can you have a fight? You’ve only been back in the dojo a week.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But this guy who was supposed to fight has tonsillitis and they’re looking for someone to take his place.’

  ‘What does JC say? Surely you can’t be fit enough?’

  ‘JC’s OK with it. It’s only a three-rounder, Mia. A lung-opener: it will help me shake off the ring rust. So it’s dreamtime for you, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ She glanced uneasily at Ash again, who was still lying flat on his back and who didn’t seem to be listening to the one-sided conversation with much interest. ‘I will do.’

  As she replaced the receiver, Ash asked mildly, ‘So when is Okie fighting?’

  ‘This weekend.’

  ‘Why are you frowning?’

  ‘I’m worried. It’s a small fight and I know he’s been trying to keep up his fitness, but a fight is still a fight, you know. Three rounds or ten rounds, it’s still dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll ask him to come and train with me and Nick over the next couple of days. It can’t hurt.’

  ‘That would be great. Thanks.’ She hugged herself as though cold. For the first time in weeks she thought of Valentine.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing. I still have to fix that dressing on you. Let me get a new pair of gloves.’

  After she had taped the dressing in place, she pushed her chair back. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She turned her back on him and started clearing the trolley. Her movements were automatic, her thoughts racing. If Okie was fighting on Saturday, that meant she would have to step out on Friday. Three days to go.

  Stepping out. Her stomach twisted with that familiar feeling of anxious excitement.

  She had forgotten about Ash and was surprised, when she turned round, to find him immediately behind her.

  Suddenly she was so aware of his closeness. He still had to put on his shirt and she could feel his heat.

  �
��You really are worried about Okie, aren’t you?’

  ‘He’s a friend. I worry about all my friends.’

  He leant a hand against the wall behind her, his arm forming an enclosed space. She could smell the musk of his bare skin.

  ‘Your pulse is going like mad.’ He lifted his other hand and brushed his finger against the hollow of her neck and she felt her skin prickle as though an insect had alighted there. Her breathing became shallow. She swallowed, and her mouth tasted of salt.

  Slowly, slowly, his fingers traced the nape of her neck and lingered just inside the open-necked collar of her blouse. In the deep secret core of her, she felt a lick of flame.

  ‘Mia.’ His lips touched her forehead, her cheeks. ‘Mia.’

  She closed her eyes and his lips were on her eyelids too. He was murmuring things against her hair but his words were indistinct. Placing his hands on her waist, his fingers gripped her flesh through the thin cotton blouse. He suddenly slammed her against him while simultaneously pushing her up against the wall. The next moment he was kissing her and she felt her lips open and his tongue touching hers. A liquid sensation ran along her veins. Slow fire spread up her legs and she could feel a dampness under her arms.

  And hadn’t she known all along that this would happen? Wasn’t this what she had secretly hoped for? Slowly, slowly, his tongue moved against the inside of her lower lip. His hands were hot through the gauzy fabric of her blouse and she felt his thigh straining against hers.

  He was now kissing her hard and her mouth opened even wider under his. But then, all of a sudden, it was as though her mind became cold as ice and she was floating outside her body and looking down at them: at the man pushing forward urgently and the woman enfolded by him, her head tilted back.

  She snapped into alertness.

  ‘No.’ Turning her head to one side, her mouth slid away from his.

  ‘Don’t be scared.’ He leant in closer. His mouth was seeking hers again and his breath was warm on her cheek.

  ‘No!’ She pressed her palm hard against his chest.

  For just the briefest of instances, she felt him resist. His muscles tautened underneath her hand and she was suddenly, overwhelmingly, aware of how powerful he was. But then he immediately stepped back.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His face had emptied of emotion.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, it’s just…’

  He made a gesture with his hand. ‘Don’t look so dismayed, Mia. It’s not the end of the world.’

  He walked to the chair where he had left his shirt and pulled it on, while she watched, her trembling fingers against her mouth. She tasted blood, coppery-sweet from a cut lip.

  At the door he paused. ‘But be warned, sweetheart, I don’t give up easily.’ His expression was blank but behind that shuttered gaze she sensed a relentless, single-track concentration. ‘You can deny it all you want, but you and I are a pair. Diamond cuts diamond.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  THE BOOK OF LIGHT AND DUST

  FOR ROSALIA

  XXXX

  What is the essence of sexual attraction?

  Fantasy.

  Not safe. Not civilised.

  Not shared.

  Fantasy is, at heart, solitary. It needs no reciprocation. Reciprocation leads to familiarity and the death of fantasy.

  But what if you meet someone who has fantasy in her bones, her blood, the electric current of her mind, the energy of her cells?

  I looked into her eyes today and I had to remind myself: watch out. That which is fragile can still be deadly.

  Kiss me, light, kiss me, dust…

  THE WAY: YIN DREAM

  BLACKLIGHT: DIR: LU9 GB2, FRC: 1, TIME: 8, SUs: GB1

  WHITELIGHT: no whitelight possible

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  It was the day before Okie’s fight and time to step out. Time to push away from her all the issues and worries that nagged at her and sapped her energy. Ash, Nick and her own confused, messy emotions about them both: everything would have to wait. Tonight she was the Keeper and Okie her only concern.

  Mia always told her charges that she dreamt of them, which was not strictly accurate. But dreams were something they understood and Molly had warned her to keep it simple. Wai chi and Reiki were not concepts with which grunts were comfortable. They may just, with difficulty, accept the idea of someone channelling healing energy through their hands, but usually the idea of a Reiki practitioner engaging in long-distance healing through meditation made no sense to them.

  The practice of ‘stepping out’ required an even greater leap of faith. Concepts such as samyama and siddhis—spiritual powers used in Hinduism and Buddhism—lay far outside the frame of reference of most grunts. As for an OBE—an out-of-body experience—this was completely foreign to their thinking and made the men feel uneasy. So Mia talked of dreams only and followed Molly’s advice to keep it uncomplicated. Besides, the notion that she was dreaming of them fed the vanity of the little darlings no end. What guy wouldn’t like the idea of a woman dreaming of him?

  Stepping out… a maze within a maze…

  The actual practice of stepping out had never been a problem for Mia. Mastering the practice itself had been intuitive. Usually Siddhi powers were gained through years of sadhana—rigorous meditation and control of the senses—but Keepers were born with the ability to have an out-of-body experience at will.

  Molly had not been curious about this unique talent that was hardwired into her DNA; she had simply accepted it and revelled in its use. ‘If you try to label a mystery, it becomes impenetrable,’ she would say in response to Mia’s questions. But Mia wanted to understand. And so she read: everything from whimsical New Age tracts to daunting neurological theses posted on academic websites. She read voraciously, joyously and with wonder.

  She learnt that, unlike her own, most out-of-body experiences were not the result of rigorous meditation but happened spontaneously. They were usually sleep-related and occurred just as the subject was on the verge of losing consciousness. A close cousin to lucid dreaming, an out-of-body experience was far more vivid and the person was fully conscious even as he or she lost contact with the sensory input from their corporeal body. Many OBEs were reported by people when they were close to death. Conditions of either excessive or diminished arousal seemed to be essential: subjects were either half-asleep when it happened or experiencing great stress—childbirth, a car crash, a rock-climbing fall. The adventures experienced in an OBE were sometimes so strong that the brain became addicted and people would allow themselves to be subjected to extreme bondage—virtual mummification—in order to reach the desired state of sensory deprivation that might lead to an OBE.

  Of course, the sensation of leaving your body behind, travelling through a modified reality and then returning is an old one: reports of OBEs go back thousands of years. But Mia learnt that science only became interested in the phenomenon after Celia Green’s first extensive scientific studies on the subject in 1968. Since then, neurologists, using binaural beats to elicit theta brain-wave frequencies or stimulating the right temporal-parietal junction of the brain have tried to induce OBE-like experiences on command. But it wasn’t until 2007 that H. Henrik Ehrsson performed the first experimental method that fitted a three-point definition of an OBE, inducing an out-of-body experience in healthy participants at the Institute of Neurology at University College London.

  But if scientists were now able to induce an OBE at will, they still did not understand the journeys their subjects took, or why.

  If you try to label a mystery, it becomes impenetrable.

  Mia sat down cross-legged in front of the standing mirror. Usually, before stepping out, she would prepare herself for the event with a full week of prolonged meditation. But Okie’s fight had come upon them so suddenly, she hadn’t had the luxury on this occasion. No matter.

  The lights in the room were switched off, but the moon outside was so bright she was able to see her reflection perfectly. Her feet
were resting on her thighs. One hand lay on her knee; the other was holding a picture of Okie. How young he looked, the posed ferocity of his stance making him appear oddly defenceless. Keeping the picture in her sight, she gazed beyond it and inhaled, breathing energy from beyond her hand, through her hand, to her nose, down her throat and the central channel, making sure to reverse the passage of the breath in similar steps as she breathed out with intent.

  Her mind emptied. But she was starting to sense the current. There it was, stirring in her abdomen—an urgent flow of energy rushing from abdomen, to throat, to the top of her head, the tips of her fingers and down to her feet: a vital tide surging through her body, lapping behind her eyes, chasing through the hemispheres of her brain, urging her to step out…

  Stepping out. The moon washed the wall white, but as she passed by it she threw no shadow. This was the part of stepping out she disliked. She was a clumsy rag doll. At this early stage of her journey she was still unbalanced and her knees were apt to buckle. Her sense of direction was impaired and she was liable to walk into walls. Mia looked into the standing mirror to her left, expecting to see her head flop on her neck like a poppy on its stalk, but she was unable to see her face. The only reflection in the mirror was of the motionless woman sitting cross-legged behind her, clasping a photograph with slack fingers.

  Her legs were feeling stronger now. She was regaining her equilibrium. By the time she reached the window, her mind was as clear as a bell. For a moment she waited, sensing the vast city outside with its millions of windows—brightly lit and hanging like glowing squares of yellow against the darkness. A city of light despite its cold, black river, its dark alleys and passageways and deserted offices closed for the night. A city of luminous streets, of humming power lines and trains charging down subterranean tunnels. A city of souls. She could sense tidy lives and haphazard existences; flowers blooming in garden squares, weeds breaking through boarded-up windows. Everything connected. And if she listened closely, she could hear the city breathing…