Scarlet and the Keepers of Light

by Brandon Charles West

  “I can’t believe you thought to save some. This is going to be amazing.” Delfi bent down and dropped a few into the freshly cultivated soil.

  “So what happened after?”

  Delfi laughed. “After you sent out the lightie wonder ball, you mean?”

  “Lightie wonder ball?”

  “It’s what the little ones call it. I think it sounds pretty menacing, so I like to use it. It’s become its official title.” Delfi smirked. “As I was saying, after you conjured up the lightie wonder ball, it radiated into the army outside. They were all repelled—or anyway, just somehow disappeared. Funny thing was, Brennan and Dakota made their way back to the library, but there was no one to ask the trees to stand aside. They had to go to a back entrance and hack their way through. Took them the whole night.”

  “Oh no,” Scarlet exclaimed. “No wonder he’s mad at me.”

  “He’s not mad.” Delfi raised his eyebrows. “He was so worried about you. It was killing him not to be able to get to you.”

  He took her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  “Oh, Delfi,” Scarlet cried, suddenly realizing what had been bothering her. “Your wings!” They were completely gone.

  “What, those?” Delfi craned his neck to try and look at his back. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a relief to have them finally gone, all tattered and hanging down like they were. A bit uncomfortable. Besides, I’ve got something to show you.” He tugged on her arm, nearly hopping up and down in his eagerness.

  Scarlet followed, giggling, as Delfi led her up to the second floor and walked her around to the window where she had watched Brennan and Dakota fighting. The small opening in the roots was still there outside the window.

  “I should probably close that,” Scarlet remarked.

  “Not necessarily. Take a look.” Delfi pointed.

  Scarlet peered through the hole in the vines and gasped. Like a colossal bell jar set down over the library, filled with a golden radiance, the dome of light she’d created shone steadily, cheerfully.

  “Mortada and tiranthropes have been trying to get past it for days, sending out dark magic spells or charging it. They haven’t gotten anywhere. The incruetati have tried from the air as well. Same thing.”

  “I don’t understand. How could I possibly . . . I would still have to be concentrating to maintain something that big. I wouldn’t have the energy.”

  “I figure it’s like when the craftsmen in Illuminora make those toys. They make them out of light, and they are permanent. They don’t have to think about them anymore—they just are what they are. You’ve done the same thing, only with an enormous burst of light energy. Never heard of anything like it—but after all, you are the For Tol Don.”

  Scarlet smiled, and then sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  ***

  After lunch—at which, thanks to Delfi’s horticultural activities and to Brennan, who’d found tables and cleared a space for a proper dining room, they ate fresh food, seated like a family—the children were allowed to play outside, sheltered by Scarlet’s dome of light, for the first time in their lives. She asked the trees and vines to draw away from the doors, and with timid steps at first, then running full tilt, the children poured out of the building and onto the grassy lawns surrounding the library, shouting with joy.

  To the immense surprise of everyone who knew him, Dakota let some of the younger children climb onto his back, where they held tight, some wide-eyed as he carefully walked around the lawn, some of the braver ones giggling madly as he galumphed about like a big puppy. It was a golden moment of peace and merriment. Scarlet lay on the grass, watching them. When had she last felt so content, so carefree? Surely this had been one of the best days of her life, she thought as the children filed back into the library, tired but contented. If only the rest of her family had been there with her, she could have asked for nothing more.

  She’d grown up so much since that fateful day when her father brought home the skinny puppy with the big paws and the deep blue eyes. Sometimes she felt like an entirely different person, like the heroine of the legend, even, but others she still felt like an awkward schoolgirl. It was hard to imagine that once life had been so simple.

  She thought about the stories she used to write. Now she knew that it was Satorium in those stories, Satorium she had been dreaming of. It must all have been part of the prophecy; somehow Satorium—Xavier, perhaps—had been calling to her through the barrier. She had never told him about her dreams or her writing, and she now wished that she had. It wasn’t only that he might know what they should do next; she just wished that he were here, so she could ask some of the million questions they hadn’t had time for before.

  She stood up to head back inside too, but then stopped, her head tipped back as she looked up at the Library of Congress. In the enchanted light the building seemed almost translucent, glowing from within. It was as beautiful as it had ever been, yet utterly changed. In this fortress of enchanted living wood and earthly stone, the two worlds seemed joined as one.

  ***

  That evening Dakota, Brennan, Delfi, and Scarlet met in what had once been a conference room to discuss their next move. They had a secure base from which to plan now, and the children and Ms. Thandiwe were safe. Now they had to find a way to complete Scarlet’s education, and to anticipate Xavier’s and Prince Thanerbos’s next moves so they could either help or thwart them.

  “Is there a way Scarlet could learn any of what she needs to know here, in this world?” Delfi asked.

  Looking at Delfi standing with the rest of her friends, his face so grave, Scarlet thought that he had also grown up a lot in the short time she’d known him. She felt a deep gratitude that he had risked so much to be with her.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of any magic on this side. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. In Satorium it was always clear who to ask for help, and where to go.” Dakota’s forehead wrinkled as he thought. “Can you think of any legends or stories in this world that could really be true?”

  “Sure, loads,” Scarlet answered. “Greek mythology, the Nordic sagas, the legends around Christmas, fairy tales—even some great works of literature are about imaginary worlds, and magic. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, even Shakespeare,” she said, thinking about Ms. Thandiwe.

  “That may be worth researching,” Delfi added. “We are in a library, after all.”

  “Or we could find a way to get back to Satorium,” Dakota said, looking doubtful. “I just don’t know how we could do that without—”

  But he never finished the thought. Just then a small boy, maybe eight years old, burst into the conference room. “Scarlet, Scarlet, you have to come quick!”

  “What’s wrong, young one?” Dakota barked.

  “It’s in the rare books part of the library. We were playing, and—you just have to come look!”

  The group got up and followed the boy to the rare books room, where Thomas Jefferson’s personal books, among other treasures, were kept. The boy pointed up at one of the bookshelves, nearly hopping up and down in his excitement. “I’ve played in here loads of times, and that’s never been like that before.”

  High up on the shelf, a book was glowing softly.

  A little gingerly, Brennan reached to get the leather-bound volume down, handing it over to Scarlet at once. It looked familiar, somehow. Opening it reverently, she watched in amazement as the letters and the lines of the woodcut pictures rose off the page like a flock of tiny black birds, spiraling in the air and then settling back down on the page to create new images and stories. At one of the new pictures, Scarlet’s breath caught in her throat. There were words below the image. She began to read.

  In the land of Satorium, in the Northern Woodlands, beneath a great oak tree, lies the village of Illuminora, the home of the Tounder, the Keepers of Light . . .

 
Again the letters rose in a swirling cloud, and again they settled on the page like blackbirds on a field.

  And from humanity will rise a great sorceress, and the people will call her the For Tol Don. She will stand against the dark one, for only she can match his power. And though she may doubt herself, though she may struggle through fear and disbelief, she will find the magic within . . .

  The End

  The adventure continues in the second book of the Scarlet Hopewell series . . .

  Scarlet

  and the Dragon’s Burden

  Three young men sat huddled around a campfire that sputtered and sizzled under a steady rain. They were cold and hungry, but filled with a hope that they had not felt for a long time. If the stories they’d been hearing were true, they might just have a chance against the monstrous plague that had ravaged their world, robbing them of their families, of their dreams, of any hope of peace, leaving only dread. Two of the three, born after the world had already succumbed to the destructive force from Satorium, had never known what it was to feel safe.

  The story that most concerned the three young men had traveled by word of mouth around the wild, war-torn earth. It told of a cunning dog, a fairy, a giant, and a young sorceress who traveled by starlight and possessed powers that might help her vanquish the dark creatures. Sixty years ago, had they heard such a story, most would have dismissed it as the plot of a children’s novel or a fantasy movie. But those carefree days were gone. There were no longer any theaters to take the kids to, no Barnes & Nobles in which to browse while sipping coffee on a busy weekend. The world was now a savage, cruel place.

  “How much farther to the city?” one of the young men, Brian, asked, raising a tin cup full of hot soup that was little more than flavored water to his lips.

  The eldest of the group, whose name was Gerald, looked out toward the eastern horizon. “Another day, I figure,” he said, although he had no idea if this were true. In fact, he’d been saying the same thing for days now. His companions never complained. It was as good an answer as any, and better than admitting that he didn’t know.

  “How much do you think is true?” The youngest and smallest of the three men directed his question to Gerald, as he always did.

  “I don’t know, Mike. I guess I’d have to hope all of it.” Gerald offered his most reassuring smile. In addition to being the reluctant leader, and a surrogate big brother to the other two, he was also the most skeptical. In his mind, the stories must contain some grain of truth if they’d reached all the way to Tennessee, but he wasn’t ready to believe them wholesale. In his life thus far, if something was too good to be true—well, actually, if it was good at all—it was not. He had agreed to travel to Washington, DC, not because he expected to find answers there but because it was better than cowering in some cellar or cave, waiting to die.

  “I think they are,” Mike said wistfully. “I mean, they gotta be, right? Everywhere we go, no matter who we talk to, it’s always the same. That’s gotta count for something.”

  Gerald dragged his pack in front of him and began taking inventory by firelight. “The stories are not all the same, though. And if we’re being honest with ourselves, they’ve gotten more outrageous the closer we’ve come to DC.” Instantly he regretted that he’d spoken his feelings out loud. Mike and Brian didn’t need his doubts weighing them down. Let them believe if they wanted to. Heck, he wished he could.

  “Well, the safe haven hasn’t changed. The Sanctuary. That part has always been the same, no matter where we go,” Brian said, his voice confident. “No one person we’ve talked to has ever described anything different. A great sphere around the Library of Congress that keeps the darkness out____”

  “Where safe haven is to be had for any human seeking refuge,” Gerald cut him off. He was tired and out of sorts, and he didn’t feel like going over it all again. “You’re right, Brian. That part’s always been the same.”

  “Who wants first watch?” Mike asked, trying to change the subject. He also hoped that if he brought it up, Brian and Gerald would offer it to him. It was so much easier to stay up late and then sleep without interruption until morning.

  “I’ll take it,” Gerald answered quickly. “I don’t have a good feeling about tonight. I’ll take a long watch, let you two get some extra sleep.”

  Neither Mike nor Brian argued, partly because they’d learned it was useless to argue with Gerald once he’d made up his mind and partly because extra sleep was a rare luxury. They rolled out their sleeping bags, placing them as close to the fire as possible. As they crawled inside, ready to take advantage of Gerald’s generosity, a sound carried across the night and straight up their spines.

  “How close?” Mike whimpered.

  “Too close,” Gerald whispered back.

  Quickly and quietly they began stuffing their things back into their packs. Gerald stomped out the fire, cursing himself for having lit it in the first place. It had been such a cold night. . . . Still, he should have known better. They had come all this way, and now they were done for; there was no use pretending any different.

  The roar of the tiranthropes came again, already much closer. The three young men began to move away from the campsite as quietly as they could. With any luck, the creatures would spend a while sniffing around the campsite and lose interest. The area was thick with trees, and Gerald was pretty sure that a river lay not too far to the east. If they could get across it, maybe they could lose the tiranthropes. Surely the beasts couldn’t follow scent across a river.

  A tiranthrope let out a bloodcurdling roar. The creature must have reached their campsite. The river was their only hope, Gerald decided. Abandoning any pretense of stealth, he motioned to his companions and they took off in a full sprint toward the east. The ground was uneven and thick with underbrush, slowing them but also offering some cover from the keen eyes of the tiranthropes that would be bearing down on them any minute. The three men plunged headlong through the forest, dodging trees and jumping logs, their ears straining for the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps on their heels.

  The forest thinned, and they broke into a clearing. At its center stone steps led to a flat marble edifice, surrounded by uniform white headstones. In the distance was the river, and beyond, a towering white obelisk.

  “It’s a graveyard.” Mike’s voice quivered uncontrollably.

  “This is the soldiers’ graveyard.” Gerald pointed toward the Washington Monument. “That’s DC. We were camped right across the river from it. It’s right there.”

  Brian grabbed Gerald’s shoulder and pulled at him. “We gotta go,” he said frantically. “They’re coming.”

  Gerald shook his head clear, his momentary sense of wonder replaced by a primal fear. He could hear the tiranthropes approaching, their heavily muscled legs pounding the earth as they tore through the underbrush. The three men dropped their packs and ran as hard as they could for the river. Never had anything seemed so blissfully close and yet so painfully far away.

  The tiranthropes broke through the trees as the three men reached the middle of Arlington National Cemetery. The average man can run maybe twelve miles an hour, the average tiranthrope, closer to fifty. With nothing but open ground ahead, the three men stood no chance. At the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Gerald stopped running. He had made his decision. He would not be run down like a deer; he’d fight like a man. He’d fight as his father had, when Gerald was newborn and the world not yet fallen. His companions stopped as well, ready to stand beside him, but Gerald waved them on, pushing them away.

  “Maybe I can buy you some time,” he said, sounding braver than he felt. “Find the Sanctuary. Find safety.”

  Brian and Mike remained frozen by indecision, trapped between their desire to survive and their instinct to stand by their friend. And then it was too late; the tiranthropes had bounded up the steps, stopping mere feet from the three young men.r />
  “Should we play with them a little?” one of the creatures growled, deep and menacing.

  There were three of the giant feline figures, lithe despite their massive size, each standing near eight feet tall, covered head to foot in a tiger’s fur, their faces more cat than man.

  One, set apart from the others by his snow-white coat, stepped slightly forward and sniffed at the air. “I don’t think you’d play with them long before they all dropped dead. You can smell the fear on them thicker than their blood.” His laugh sounded more like a roar.

  “Better not, then,” the first answered. “I like my meat fresh. I hate it when their hearts give out before the first bite.”

  The tiranthropes moved in, and then stopped abruptly. The white tiranthrope’s nose again searched the air. This time his eyes, focused on something behind Gerald and his friends, narrowed in alarm, not in amusement. Gerald turned his head to look: behind him, a man was walking up the steps. As the newcomer neared, the tiranthropes stepped back.

  “Times must be getting desperate, for you to be hunting this close to the Capitol,” the new figure said.

  At once the three young men knew who he was: this was the giant of the stories they’d heard.

  In reality, Brennan was significantly smaller than the tiranthropes who seemed so afraid of him. True, next to Gerald, Brian, and Mike he was a very large young man, nearly seven feet tall, thickly muscled and broad-shouldered. But it wasn’t his size that identified him. The young men, now spectators in an exchange they didn’t understand, could see why he’d been described as a giant. It was the way that he carried himself.

  “There are three of us, Satoriun,” the white tiranthrope said. His attempt to sound confident came out more like pleading. “You are outnumbered.”

  “Am I?” Brennan said, his voice calm and even.

  From the left side of the monument, a German shepherd padded into the invisible circle around the tiranthropes and men. He too was quite large.