The Keeper's Shadow

by Dennis Foon

  “It’s hard to put into words. I’m just happy it’s made a difference to Wolf and—Mabatan?” Leaping over the table, Roan catches her as she crumples.

  “Clerics on patrol,” she gasps, crunching into a tight ball at his side. “They’ve got a sword to a woman’s throat, and to her child’s. The smuggler is holding me back. Oh no!”

  “What is it?”

  “Kira’s…remembering. Her mother…dying on a Cleric’s sword. Aiee!” Mabatan lurches up from her crouch and darts forward, her arms and legs slashing the empty air. When Roan rushes to stop her, she steps confidently on her left leg and kicks him smartly in the chest with her right.

  Leaping out of the brush, Kira slices off the Cleric’s arm before he even sees her. His sword clatters to the ground and she finishes him, hissing at the mother and child, “Flee!”

  The innocents scramble down the road and Kira attacks the other three Clerics but they’re ready for her, encircling her and warding off her blows. Kira aims low at the closest one, hitting the Cleric behind the leg. As he goes down, she whirls, taking out the second. That leaves one, the biggest of the group. She bears down hard, testing his strength, and he easily repels the blow. This one’s good, but not good enough. She pivots, kicking him in the chest and takes him out with a perfect sword thrust.

  Something hits her hard on the head, flashing light behind her eyes. Blood pours down her face and she staggers, turning to ward off the next blow. It’s the smuggler, a bloody rock in his hand, grinning. “Sorry, but you have no idea how high a price I can get for you.”

  He’s flickering in and out of view; she’s losing consciousness. But as he raises the rock for another blow, she sinks her blade into his stomach. His scream rings in her ears, then all is silent.

  Mabatan feels the soft pillow below her head, the scent of aromatic herbs. She opens her eyes to find Ende blowing on the herb burner.

  “Ende. Kira lives.”

  Lips drawn tight, Ende nods once in acknowledgment of Mabatan’s news. “You need rest, Mabatan. Sleep.”

  Too weak to protest, Mabatan sinks into her pillow just as Lumpy appears. “I was out helping build the stables.”

  “I am fine.”

  “Yeah. I can see that.” Sitting at her bedside, Lumpy takes her hand. “You sure knocked the wind out of Roan.” He glances over at Ende, no doubt trying to determine the severity of what’s happened.

  Squeezing his hand, Mabatan answers his unasked question. “Kira was betrayed by the smuggler.”

  “I knew it,” Lumpy moans.

  “He was just waiting for his moment. I think she killed him. She killed them all—” Mabatan stiffens. “Where am I?” She gasps. Her eyes narrow and she speaks menacingly with Kira’s voice. “Stay back or die.”

  Kira’s sitting at the side of the road. Her head throbs. She’s surrounded by Hhroxhi warriors, fangs bared. She can hear hoofbeats in the distance, moving quickly toward them.

  One of the warriors reaches for her, and Kira pushes herself back, grasping her sword and trying to focus her vision. “You want it? Come and get it.”

  The Hhroxhi’s face strains, and curling its lips around its sharp fangs, it struggles to make a sound. “Frehhhnnnd.”

  “What?” Kira asks, doubting what she’s hearing. “Friend? Did you say, friend?”

  The thundering horses are almost upon them. With red eyes riveted on Kira, the Hhroxhi tries again. “Llllummpeee. Frehhhnd.”

  “Lumpy’s your friend?”

  The girl nods. “Lllumpee.”

  “Mhyzah?”

  Mhyzah anxiously motions for Kira to follow her companions down through a hidden hole.

  Extending a hand to Mhyzah, Kira rolls her eyes. “Why does it have to be tunnels?” Putting her feet down the hole, she slides into pitch darkness, hoping for the best.

  Roan’s at her bedside now as well, one hand on Lumpy’s shoulder, both their faces so filled with concern it’s nearly enough to make Mabatan smile. Still, she looks beyond them to Ende. “Mhyzah found Kira and has taken her into the thrusalls.”

  The Apsara matriarch sighs with relief.

  Mabatan turns back to Lumpy, and lifting an eyebrow, asks, “When did you teach Mhyzah our language?”

  Roan raises an eyebrow. “You gave Mhyzah English lessons?”

  Lumpy stares at his feet. “Just a couple of words.”

  “Yes. Friend and Lumpy,” Mabatan grins as Roan gives Lumpy a teasing poke.

  “I thought they might come in handy.”

  “Lumpy.” Ende turns from her balms and ointments. “Your work as Gyoxhip has saved Kira’s life. Thank you.”

  It’s almost worth the ache in Mabatan’s head to see Lumpy beam.

  Cries of “Time, time, time!” greet Roan and Lumpy as they round the corner to the laboratory.

  “Time is vastly overrated.”

  “Overemphasized.”

  Roan steps into the converted day room, already chaotic with dozens of books strewn amongst beakers and suspended enablers that shimmer with fluctuating light. “Greetings, doctors. What’s the breakthrough?”

  The physicians twitter nervously. “Oh. Well. We have made progress.”

  “Inroads,” says Imin.

  “Advances,” adds Othard. Then looking uneasily at Imin, he mutters, “However…”

  “…that is not why…”

  “…we sent for you.”

  “Last night…” says Imin.

  “…we were visited…”

  “…in our dreams…”

  “…by the mountain lion…”

  “…Sari.”

  Even the sound of her name makes Roan uneasy. “What did she want?”

  “We’re to meet in the Dreamfield safe place at the next new moon.”

  “It was a command…”

  “…sent to all Dirt Eaters.”

  “A summoning.”

  “And how…” says Roan, scrutinizing every eye movement, every twitch, every flick of their faces, “…did you reply?”

  “We couldn’t.”

  “No Dirt in our bodies anymore, you see...”

  “…no way to respond…”

  “She can’t even know if she’s reached us…”

  “…but we heard her and she…”

  “…she said…”

  “The time has come for action!” they blurt out together.

  Roan’s silent, trying to understand exactly what that means.

  “So,” Lumpy frowns. “What do you think the Dirt Eaters are up to?”

  “We don’t know…”

  “…but it can’t be good.”

  “They haven’t got much of an army, but it’s well trained—like Lelbit was. They could be a pretty big thorn in our side…if it’s us they’re after.”

  The doctors and Lumpy turn to Roan, obviously seeking his opinion. The doctors, however, soon stare discomfited at their feet and Roan knows his dismay must be written all over his face.

  “We can’t be trusted anymore,” says Imin.

  “We understand,” adds Othard dejectedly.

  “No! I trust you. It’s the Dirt Eaters I don’t trust. I just wish…well, that Sari’d been clearer, that we knew more. If you dream anything else, you’ll be sure to tell us?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Without question!”

  “We will honor your trust, Roan of Longlight.”

  Nodding, Roan turns to go, but Lumpy holds his ground, catching the attention of the physicians.

  “Yes?” Imin asks, eyes flitting nervously from Lumpy to Roan.

  “Have you found anything that can help Mabatan filter Kira’s experiences?”

  Shaking their heads, the physicians let out a frustrated sigh. “Not yet.”

  “It’s going to be a bit slower now that Algie’s with the Gunthers,” explains Imin.

  “Working on that Allayer,” adds Othard. “Not that what he’s doing isn’t important, but…”

  “…when he can b
e spared…”

  “…we could use his help...”

  “…we’re just doctors…”

  “…and the technology is…”

  “…sophisticated…”

  “…if we knew more...”

  “…but we don’t.”

  “Sorry,” Imin says, looking sadly at Lumpy.

  Lumpy pats both doctors on the back. “It’s alright, I know you’re working hard. Thank you.”

  Feeling a little sheepish at not having asked about Mabatan himself, Roan follows his friend out of the laboratory. Despite Mabatan’s assurances, Roan can see that the connection with Kira isn’t getting any easier for her. Not only is she having trouble meeting the simple demands of her own life, like eating and walking from one place to another without getting hurt, but Lumpy’s said her headaches are getting worse. Whether that’s from the enabler itself or having to share Kira’s experiences—the smuggler’s blow to the head couldn’t have helped—it’s impossible to tell. And Roan feels as least partially responsible. “…Lumpy...it was me who asked Algie to work with the Gunthers.”

  “I know. I’ve talked to them. You were right. We’re paralyzed until we find something to repel the Apogee. That’s the priority. It’s just…a year ago things were a lot clearer. We’d be helping our friend, not feeling horrible that other things are more important than...”

  Roan knows the look on Lumpy’s face. It comes with the knowledge that no matter what you choose, somebody’s going to get hurt. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way either.”

  By the time they arrive at the library and its door shuts behind them, Roan has a sense they’ve left a part of themselves behind. A part they might never recover.

  As they walk down the stairs, Gunther Number Seventy-Nine runs up to Roan, waving a piece of paper. “Roan of Longlight, Algernon left me with this section of the journal to decipher and I—”

  “Read it to me!” says Roan, eagerly.

  She brings the paper close to her eyes and reads. “Now it is time to tell you of the ring. I have burdened you and your sister with a great responsibility; the ring is my one gift. I have left it with Steppe. She will pass it on to her daughter, who will see that you receive it.”

  Roan rubs his half of the badger ring with the tip of his thumb. “Go on,” he urges.

  “The badger is known for its tenacity and ability to survive. It can be helpful to you in many ways. By now, you and your sister should be linked to the ring and through it to each other. You see, despite its being broken, it retains the desire to make itself whole and that can be very useful indeed. To explain…”

  THE PRIMARY’S INTERROGATION

  USE WHAT YOUR ENEMY SEEKS AS YOUR SHIELD, AND WITHDRAW ALL ELSE TO THE CORE. AN ENEMY WILL RARELY LOOK PAST WHAT YOU APPEAR TO VALUE IF THEY DESIRE IT AS WELL.

  —THE WAY OF THE WAZYA

  STOWE IS BEING ESCORTED TO A FITTING BY TWO CLERICS when her body begins to shake uncontrollably. Willum! The call is sent before she has time to censor it.

  What is it?

  I don’t know. The Clerics walking on either side of her do not appear to notice the convulsions that are tearing her apart. She glances anxiously around, trying to think of a way to stall them without arousing any suspicion, but waves of nausea are preventing her from connecting one thought with another. Willum appears before her just as she feels her knees give way.

  “Our Stowe has been summoned,” he says, and without any explanation whatsoever, his arm glides under hers. Supporting almost all her weight, he whisks her down the corridor out of the Clerics’ sight.

  “I need to go to my room,” she whispers, barely able to shape the words.

  Indicating that Willum should join her, she shuts the door behind them. Holding up her hand, she shows Willum the half-ring. It’s glowing: she can see the path of its energy as it surges through her bones, down her spine, pulling her, pulling her.

  Willum lifts her into his arms. It’s alright. I’ll watch over you. And slipping from her skin, Stowe is drawn away.

  A DELUGE OF FLAMING STONES PLUMMETS TOWARD HER AND SHE DUCKS. INCHES FROM HER FACE, THEY EXPLODE, SOMEHOW LEAVING HER UNSCATHED. ONE COLLISION AFTER ANOTHER DEFINES THE INVISIBLE BUBBLE THAT SURROUNDS HER. THE SLATE FLOOR SHE’S STANDING ON TREMBLES. THE AIR IN FRONT OF HER SHIMMERS AND ROAN APPEARS. HE FLINCHES AT THE ONSLAUGHT OF FIERY ROCK, THEN, SEEMINGLY UNPERTURBED, HE TURNS TO FACE HER.

  “YOU KNOW WHERE WE ARE?” STOWE ASKS, CONFUSED. “IT FEELS FAMILIAR, BUT I DON’T REMEMBER EVER BEING HERE.”

  “I HAVE. WITH RAT. IT’S A SAFE PLACE.”

  “AND WHY EXACTLY ARE WE HERE NOW?”

  “A NEW SECTION OF OUR GREAT-GRANDFATHER’S JOURNAL’S BEEN DECIPHERED. IT’S ABOUT THE RING, THE THINGS IT CAN DO.”

  “WHAT? LIKE UNPLEASANT TRAVEL TO EQUALLY UNPLEASANT PLACES?” STOWE GRUMBLES.

  “DON’T YOU SEE? WE CAN CALL ON EACH OTHER. MEET SAFELY HERE. EXCHANGE INFORMATION. YOU HAVE TO ADMIT IT’S USEFUL.”

  “AND DANGEROUS. I ALMOST COLLAPSED IN THE CORRIDORS OF POWER. IT WAS LUCKY WILLUM WAS CLOSE BY. WE ARE TRYING NOT TO ATTRACT TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO OURSELVES.”

  “TRUE. OUR GREAT-GRANDFATHER SUSPECTED THESE MEETINGS MIGHT HAVE TO BE QUICK. SO, NOT ONLY CAN THE RING BRING US TOGETHER, HE SAYS IT CAN ALLOW US TO SHARE OUR MEMORIES INSTANTLY. WANT TO TRY?”

  “DO I HAVE A CHOICE!” STOWE SAYS DRAMATICALLY, ODDLY PLEASED WHEN HER BROTHER SMILES BACK.

  HOLDING UP HIS HAND, ROAN EXPOSES HIS HALF OF THE RING TO HER. “PUT YOURS AGAINST MINE.”

  TOUCHING HER HALF-RING TO HIS, SHE CRIES OUT. IT IS AS IF SHE IS CATAPULTING THROUGH A MINOTAUR’S OPEN CHEST, ROAN’S MEMORIES BECOMING HER OWN AS THEY PASS THROUGH HIS HALF-RING INTO HERS. IT TAKES ALL HER CONCENTRATION TO SIMULTANEOUSLY ACCESS HER EXPERIENCES AT COOPERATION UNLIMITED AND OFFER THEM TO ROAN, BUT ONCE THERE SHE FEELS THE FORCE OF WHAT SHE REMEMBERS—THE VAPOR BEING DRAWN OUT BY THE ENABLER AND THEN FED SOMEHOW TO DARIUS’S THRONE, HER OWN STRUGGLE TO ESCAPE DESTRUCTION—BEING DRAWN FROM HER IN A FLASH.

  THE EXCHANGE COMPLETED, SHE DROPS HER HAND, LOOKING WRYLY AT HER EVER EARNEST BROTHER.

  “SO. YOU GET TO KILL A GOD. ANY IDEA WHY?”

  “NONE. WELL…MAYBE…A MONTH OR SO AGO, I HAD THIS VISION…”

  “DO YOU SEE THE FUTURE? WILLUM SEES THE FUTURE. HE DOESN’T LIKE IT MUCH. I HAVEN’T HAD A REAL VISION YET. WHAT’S IT—”

  “STOWE!”

  “SORRY. IT’S EXCITING, IS ALL. PLEASE. TELL ME YOUR VISION.”

  “I SACRIFICED A BULL AND ITS BLOOD HEALED THE NOVAKIN. SO NOW I CAN’T HELP THINKING KILLING THE FRIEND IS SOMEHOW RELATED TO SAVING THE CHILDREN. BUT HOW I’M SUPPOSED TO DO IT, I DON’T KNOW. ANY IDEAS?”

  “AFRAID NOT. IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, WE DON’T KNOW HOW WE’RE GOING TO STOP DARIUS EITHER.”

  “I SUPPOSE TRYING TO CONTACT THE OVERSHADOWER TO LET HIM KNOW HE’S BEING CHEATED IS OUT OF THE QUESTION.”

  “WILLUM AND I HAVEN’T RULED THAT OUT. WE’RE PLANNING TO GO AND EXPLORE. THERE MIGHT BE A WAY TO EXPOSE DARIUS IN THE REAL WORLD TOO. WE’RE THINKING MAYBE MASTER QUERIN IS PLANNING A COUP. HE’S TWICE AS CLEVER AS DARIUS, JUST AS TERRIFYING, AND HE IS HIDING SOMETHING.”

  “STOWE…I…” ROAN STARES AT HER. SHE KNOWS HE’S ABOUT TO TELL HER TO BE CAREFUL AND SHE GETS MORE THAN ENOUGH OF THAT FROM WILLUM.

  “IF I FIND OUT ANYTHING ABOUT KILLING A GOD ALONG THE WAY, I’LL LET YOU KNOW. BUT…ABOUT THE NEXT TIME YOU WANT TO TALK…CAN WE FIND A WAY TO WARN EACH OTHER? IT’LL LOOK SUSPICIOUS IF I GO AROUND FAINTING EVERY TWO MINUTES.”

  “SORRY,” ROAN SAYS, AND THE WORRY IN HIS VOICE IS ALMOST MORE THAN SHE CAN BEAR. “IN THE JOURNAL IT SAYS OUR LIFE-FORCE IS CONNECTED THROUGH THE RING. WE SHOULD BE ABLE TO LET EACH OTHER KNOW IF THERE’S SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SHARE, THINKING ABOUT SOMETHING FAMILIAR, THAT WE BOTH FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT. SOMETHING FROM HOME…WHAT ABOUT THE BIG EMPTY? THE DAY WE CARVED OUR NAMES IN THE TOP.”

  “MAYBE I THINK ABOUT THAT TOO OFTEN ALREADY,” STOWE SA
YS.

  HER BROTHER REACHES OUT TO HER. “STOWE, THE DIRT EATERS ARE PLANNING SOMETHING. WE DON’T KNOW WHAT…”

  BUT SHE’S ALREADY DISSOLVING BACK INTO HER WORLD. AWAY FROM THE PAST. AND A BROTHER WHO ALWAYS MAKES HER WANT TO CRY. AND SHE CAN’T CRY. NOT NOW. MAYBE NOT EVER.

  Willum is sitting on the chair close to her. The sight of him fills her with a comforting warmth. She is about to speak when he puts his finger to her lips. Careful.

  The ring took me to Roan. We were able to share what we’ve learnt.

  Good.

  The Friend wants Roan to kill him.

  She has barely time to enjoy the look of shock on Willum’s face when a sharp rap demands their attention.

  “Yes?” Stowe brusquely shouts.

  The Cleric’s reedy voice whistles on the other side of the door. “The Archbishop requests the presence of Our Stowe and her Primary.”

  Stowe gives Willum a frightened look. Could he know? Sense my absence? Did the Clerics—

  Assume nothing. Keep your mind clear and ready. Do not reveal yourself.

  Willum rises slowly, his demeanor solemn. He holds out his hand. Stowe takes it and he draws her up. Just as they reach the door, she stops, pocketing the half-ring. Willum places a reassuring hand on the small of her back as the door slides open. Repressing her anxieties, Stowe nods benignly and the two clerics lead the way.

  Darius is alone. A bag of fluid suspended over his head slowly drips into his carotid artery, an attempt to replenish the cells in his withered body.

  Hiding behind a daughter’s empathy, Stowe allows a bit of her own despair to color her words. “Oh, Father, what are they doing to you now?”

  But Darius’s smile is dangerous and razor sharp. “You know these doctors, Daughter, always finding work for themselves.” He motions her and Willum to sit on the high-backed chairs across from him. “I had the most interesting visit today with Master Fortin. Bit of a toad, don’t you think?”

  Stowe laughs. “You are wicked, Father,” she says, attempting to cajole, “but he does seem to be doing an excellent job.”

  “He was most impressed with your speech, my love. He found it terribly…provocative.” His eyes flit across her face.

  “How so, Father?” she asks ingenuously.