Scarlet and the Keepers of Light

by Brandon Charles West

  It had to be real. This was all really happening. There would be no waking up. Something incredible, unbelievable, was happening, and it was happening to her.

  4

  An Infinite Forest

  Dakota was furious with himself. There was no reason to be; he could have done nothing more. It was all a part of the magic that had brought him to this world as Scarlet’s guardian. He’d known it would take time to reach his full strength, and that even when he had recovered, he could never again be what he once had been. Never again would he resume the body that had once been his, the body that had been born the Lord of Wolves. That had been part of the sacrifice—a fruitless sacrifice, if Scarlet didn’t escape from the hunters in time. Nothing was more relentless, more evil, than the Mortada. Theirs was the darkest magic, and in his new form he was no match for them. As it was, he’d barely held his own against the three of them, and if the Stidolph hadn’t come when they had—well, no matter now. They had. He hoped they’d bought the Hopewells enough time.

  His mind churned with questions. How had the Mortada found them? How had they crossed over? Had they been wandering, lost between worlds, as he had?

  It had taken him fourteen years to find Scarlet. In that time, he’d had no contact with anyone or anything. Everything could have changed. The world he thought he was leading Scarlet toward, a world where she would be safe, where she could be trained to fulfill her destiny, might offer no safety at all. But there was no alternative. Not with the Mortada on their heels. Even if the prince had overrun Satorium, their only hope was to get Scarlet to Xavier.

  Still, Xavier’s plan had worked. Somehow he’d held open the crossing for Dakota and, when the time came, for the Stidolph as well. Maybe that was how the Mortada had crossed. He hated to think what that might mean for Xavier. Luckily something about the crossing had weakened the Mortada. No doubt Mr. Hopewell’s great love for his children had helped him to resist, but even that wouldn’t have prevailed against a Mortada at the height of its powers. For his part, Dakota had made it through the fight with only a bloody scrape on his right shoulder, but it throbbed deep in his muscles as he ran. Please, Cricket. Get them to safety. Let there be safety still through the barrier.

  He knew in his heart, though, that she would succeed, and that safety was still to be had on the other side. He had prepared Cricket well, and although she wasn’t originally from his home, she had a bigger heart than any warrior he’d ever known. Besides, her loyalty to the Hopewells was beyond mere dedication. She loved them, and Dakota had learned over his long life that love could make up for many weaknesses.

  For a dog who until meeting Dakota had been content to live each day as a mere pet—not that, after living with the Hopewells for five months, Dakota held any contempt for that role—Cricket was a quick study. Every night they had gone over the route through the woods and across the barrier to Satorium. Every night she repeated the plan perfectly, asking few questions. Her devotion was all that mattered to her.

  The rhythmic thumping of the pack’s paws drove Dakota onward despite the pain in his leg. Any second now they would catch up with Scarlet and the family.

  ***

  “Cricket,” Mr. Hopewell called, a note of doubt in his voice, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was still in charge. Cricket looked back, slackening her pace. “We have to rest,” he said, his breath labored. “The girls need a break.”

  Cricket stopped, her nose automatically searching the air for the scent of danger. “Dakota told me not stop until we reach Tounder,” she barked, worry in her voice.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what any of that means. For a minute, though, we have to stop—I can’t carry Melody much longer without a break. Let’s catch our breath,” Mr. Hopewell pleaded. He leaned against a tree, chest heaving, still cradling the sleeping Melody in his arms.

  Cricket nodded reluctantly, taking up a guard position between the family and the house. Don’t stop. Don’t rest or believe you’re safe. Dakota’s words were hammering in her brain as she strained to process all the new information she was responsible for now. She was just a dog, after all—a regular family dog. What did she know of magic and the Mortada and protecting her family against these things? Before Dakota came, the most important decisions she had to make in any given day had been who to bring the ball back to, and which of her family looked the most willing to give her a belly rub. This was all too much—but there was no alternative. Dakota . . . her family . . . they were all depending on her.

  But just as panic was beginning to rise in her, she felt a familiar hand scratch her behind her ear, just where she liked it best. “I can’t believe you can talk,” Scarlet said, smiling down at her. Her face was flushed from running, almost hiding the freckles on her nose. “Could you talk this whole time?”

  Cricket tried to smile, though that didn’t work so well on a dog, since it looked more like baring teeth. “No, not until Dakota show me how.” She knew her pride at having mastered the language, a feat that seemed impossible for a dog, shone in her eyes.

  “How did Dakota learn?” Scarlet asked.

  “I don’t know.” Cricket was starting to get nervous again, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. She could just catch the scent of something in the distance, but could not quite make out what it was. She was quivering with fear. Please let it be Dakota, she pleaded silently.

  Whatever it was, it had to be close now. It was something powerful, she knew that much. The Mortada. Had Dakota failed? There was no way to know until it was too late. If it was them she was smelling, she didn’t know what she could do. They had so much power, she could feel it, and she was just an ordinary dog.

  “Who were those men?” Scarlet asked. “And what was the dark . . . smoke stuff? Was it magic?”

  “That is best for Dakota to answer. We have to move. We not safe until we reach land where Tounder live,” Cricket implored. She felt as if time itself were an enemy, hunting them down as surely as the Mortada.

  “What are the Tounder?” Scarlet asked, sounding much more curious than scared. “The name seems familiar, but I can’t think why.”

  Cricket wasn’t sure how to answer. She certainly had never seen these beings, and the description Dakota had given of them made little sense to her. “Not sure. Just know Dakota said we safe once we reach their land.” Her hackles had begun to rise involuntarily, and she shifted uneasily. “To me, sound like little bird people in books you talk to Melody.”

  Scarlet frowned. “Little bird people? What in the world?” Then she smiled. “Fairies. You mean fairies. Like the Tinker Bell books.”

  “Yes, those. Tinker Bells.”

  ***

  Scarlet wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this surreal night. Fairies? As if talking dogs, evil men, and mystical forests weren’t ridiculous enough, now fairies? But now, with Cricket trembling under her fingers, her warmth and the texture of her fur much too real to belong to a dream, humor was giving way to fear.

  “Mr. Hopewell!” Cricket’s bark had the ring of panic. “We have to move. We not safe here.”

  Scarlet looked over at her parents. Her dad was sitting with his back against a tree trunk, still cradling the sleeping Melody in his arms. Her mom had been sitting next to him, resting her head against his chest, but now she straightened up, looked at Scarlet and Cricket, and spoke for the first time since they’d run out of the house. “Where are we going, Cricket? What is all this?” She sounded puzzled, and a little annoyed.

  She still thinks it’s a dream.

  Cricket whimpered a little in frustration. “I not best to ask. Dakota or Tounder will answer questions. We have to move.” The longer they waited, the more panicky Cricket looked, and now she was shifting her feet, barely able to keep still, as if she were waiting to run after a ball.

  Scarlet’s father began to climb to his feet, but her mom stopped him, placing a hand
firmly on his chest.

  “Cricket,” she said firmly, “I don’t know if you can understand how crazy this all is to us. We can’t just go chasing after a talking dog in the middle of the night. Someone broke into our home. We have to call the police.”

  But Cricket wasn’t listening. She sniffed the air frantically, turning one way and the next, as if searching for a scent. “Please. We need to go.”

  “We’re not running into the middle of nowhere like this anymore. We need to reach the police.” Scarlet’s mother had crossed her arms. She looked as unmovable as a boulder.

  “Maybe we should just go with it,” Scarlet’s father suggested. “Whatever those things were, I’m not even sure the police could help.”

  Scarlet’s mom shot him a be-quiet-and-let-me-speak look. “What are those things?” she demanded. It was plain she wouldn’t be budged.

  ***

  Cricket whined. It was too late. Whatever she’d heard rustling in the brush was close. No, it was here. They wouldn’t be able to escape. She had failed.

  “We have to try and hide. Hurry!”

  But now there was a great rustling in the trees from the direction of the house. There wouldn’t be time to hide. Cricket planted herself firmly between the danger and her family, steeling herself against whatever might burst through the trees. She would give it the fight of her life. However little good it might do, she would die protecting them.

  The undergrowth parted, and Dakota emerged from the thick green shadows, panting heavily and bleeding from his shoulder. He slid to a sudden halt in front of Cricket, looking at her and the family with desperate eyes. The pack came to a more graceful stop behind him.

  “Why did you stop?” Dakota barked. “I told you not to stop until you’d reached the Tounder.” He was holding back his anger, but it showed in his flashing blue eyes.

  Cricket lowered her head and nuzzled Dakota’s neck. “I sorry,” she whined.

  “It’s my fault,” Mr. Hopewell called out, walking to stand next to Cricket. “I told her to stop.”

  Dakota looked from Cricket to Mr. Hopewell, and his eyes softened. It was completely understandable that she had listened to her master, Cricket read in them; he couldn’t fault her for it. “We’re not safe until we reach the Tounder,” he barked. “We can’t afford to stop.”

  “Scarlet is tired. She can’t handle this running much longer,” Mr. Hopewell said. Cricket suspected that he spoke for himself as much as Scarlet. After all, he was carrying Melody.

  Dakota lifted his head and barked. It sounded curiously as if he was laughing—perhaps he’d had the same thought. “That’s a problem easily fixed,” he said. “Ulrich, Fael!”

  Two of the largest wolves—no, Stidolph, Cricket corrected herself—came forward, silently communicating with Dakota. Then the one Dakota called Ulrich approached Scarlet.

  “Climb on my back, my lady,” he said, his voice low and gruff, as if he rarely used it and wasn’t quite sure it worked.

  Scarlet smiled and, without hesitation, jumped onto Ulrich’s back. Fael went to Mrs. Hopewell and motioned for her to do the same. After a great deal of hesitation, she did, and Mr. Hopewell handed her Melody.

  Dakota looked at Mr. Hopewell. “How are your legs?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he answered, a little doubtfully.

  “Then let’s be off.” Dakota took the lead, darting off into the forest ahead of them.

  ***

  Limbs and leaves flashed by in a dizzying blur, almost faster than Scarlet could see them. Despite the tremendous speed at which Ulrich ran, she had no fear of falling off. She wrapped her arms around the Stidolph’s mighty neck and reveled in the wind rushing through her hair. Stealing a glance at her mother, she was surprised to see much the same expression on her face, even if it was a bit more reserved. With the Stidolph carrying them, now, everything seemed like it would be okay. She looked back and saw her father and Cricket running side by side. Never had she seen her dad run so fast.

  After several miles, a familiar sensation washed over her. Her heart seemed to be dancing. Inside she was filled with a warmth that staved off the cold. It felt as if nothing in the world could ever be sad again. Even in the dark, the forest around her glowed so alive and green, shimmering like emeralds carved into the shapes of leaves and ferns. There was a strange tickling in her hair, a tickling she knew she’d felt before. Just above her, in the canopy of the trees, she could swear she saw dancing lights of every imaginable color.

  The trees parted to reveal a circular clearing, a massive oak standing majestically at its center. Scarlet gasped. Clothed with iridescent gold and silver leaves, the oak’s limbs spread wide to form a glittering canopy against the night sky. All along its branches, up and down its mighty trunk, glistening lights danced in every hue.

  At the base of the tree, much smaller than she remembered it in her dreams, was the entrance to the village.

  5

  The Largest Little Village

  Dakota stopped at the base of the massive oak, bowed his head low to the ground, and then lifted his muzzle to the heavens and let out a mighty howl. Cricket and the wolves did the same, the canine chorus rising to a crescendo, echoing out into the night.

  The myriad points of lights that had been dancing around the tree began to swirl together, forming a cyclone of vibrant colors that encompassed the Hopewells and the canines. Scarlet felt a tingling all over her body, radiating in circles just beneath the surface of her skin. Through the lights that swirled around her, she could just make out the foliage, and as the speed of the luminescent cyclone grew, so did the size of the tree above her. Within moments the ferns that had been underfoot now seemed as tall as trees, and the great oak, which had already been a mighty specimen, was now incomprehensibly vast. After a few moments the tornado of light slowed, and Scarlet could see that each light was actually a person, dressed in shimmering cloth, floating gracefully to the ground on wings that seemed made of the same iridescent material. This, Scarlet correctly guessed, must be the Tounder.

  One of the Tounder landed in front of the family. “I am Xavier,” the winged figure said. “Elder of the Tounder and Keeper of Light.” He bowed elegantly and then waved his arm to introduce the many winged figures behind him.

  The little man looked very old, with a long beard and hair that matched the glistening white of his wings. He was smaller than the other winged figures, and quite thin. The eyes that lit up with his warm smile were clear amber and shone with a radiance of their own.

  “Ch—er—Charles. Charles Hopewell,” Mr. Hopewell mumbled. “I’m with the talking dogs.”

  Xavier laughed. It was the most beautiful sound Scarlet had ever heard. “But of course you are. Come with me—you must be exhausted.” He beckoned them toward the massive archway at the base of the oak.

  Confusion washed over Scarlet in waves. Nothing from the moment she had woken made any sense. It was as if she had never left her dream, and when she thought about it, that really was the most likely explanation for what was happening to them. A desperate need to wake warred within her with an insatiable curiosity, a sense of wonderment she could not shake. Perhaps if she focused on one unbelievable thing at a time? Work backward, if she must, to a final explanation. She took a moment to study the world around her, focusing not on the whole of the evening but simply on what was before her now.

  Finally it came to her. It wasn’t the forest that had grown. They had shrunk.

  Xavier looked at the bewildered family and frowned. “Have you told them nothing?” he asked Dakota.

  “There was no time,” Dakota answered faintly. “I barely had time to reach some degree of maturity. The Mortada came earlier than expected. I lost a lot of blood and strength in the fight.”

  Xavier nodded. “We couldn’t know how long it would take to get you over. That’s my failing. . . . You must be
more than a little confused,” he said apologetically to the family. “Come into my home. You can rest while I do my best to explain what I can.”

  He turned to Scarlet and smiled, bending down so they were eye to eye. “Yes, my dear.” He chuckled. “We shrank you.”

  I didn’t say that out loud, did I? Scarlet thought. As if in direct reply, Xavier winked at her.

  ***

  Mr. Hopewell was an easygoing sort of man, but still, he liked to consider himself a rational person. It wasn’t that he lacked imagination or didn’t enjoy the occasional fantasy movie or book, but when it came to the world of nonfiction, what you see is generally what you get. He tried to wrap his mind around what he saw in front of him. Rational really wasn’t going to cut it. There was no rational way of explaining the circumstances of following a winged man, who called himself what amounted basically to “the old fairy,” through a hole in a tree that moments ago he wouldn’t have been able to fit his hand into. Not to mention that the tree was now twice the size of the tallest skyscraper Mr. Hopewell had ever seen.

  He reached out and took Mrs. Hopewell’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. To her credit, she just smiled and shrugged, having obviously given up her earlier confrontational attitude as futile. Perhaps she was right. There was no point in trying to rationalize away any of this, for the moment at least.

  Hand in hand, they walked beneath the arch and into the tree trunk.

  Mr. Hopewell had been expecting the space they entered to look like, well, the inside of a tree. Instead, beyond the entranceway stretched a great hall lined with glorious stone columns, carved in the shape of winged figures. The hall was alive with light, though there were no lamps or candles anywhere to be seen. A glow seemed to come from nowhere, and yet everywhere.

  “There is a column for each of the elders past,” Xavier said, walking beside Mr. Hopewell. “All fathers of my fathers, going back to the beginning of recorded time.”