The Keeper

by Oz Mari G.

  Manuu asked to speak to Anza, perhaps to reassure himself. He got out of it by telling him Anza was still unaware of him being an Iztari, which was technically true. He pacified Manuu with two promises: that Anza would call him after she learned the truth about him, and that he would call Manuu by tomorrow afternoon to reconfirm they got a flight back to the mainland for the following day.

  Anza stirred awake a few minutes later. He rushed to her side. She tried to get up, but the wound on her abdomen made her flinch and flop back on the bed.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. The pallor of her skin worried him.

  Anza touched the bandage and realised she was naked underneath. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment.

  “Anza, on my honour, my eyes were closed. I kept you undressed because it’s easier to change your bandage, should I need to,” he said in haste.

  His agitation calmed Anza as she looked back at him. Her abashed expression faded and transitioned to a serene, assessing one.

  “Veren, I need an explanation.” Her quiet words were loud in his ears.

  He sighed and nodded. “Yes, you do. I’m an Iztari, and your father sent for me to find you …”

  “My father asked for you specifically?”

  “No. The Chief Iztari appointed me because I was the closest to your age. Your father told us you know how the system works and you would expect Iztaris to come after you. Your father didn’t want to force you to come home. He doesn’t want you to run away again. They ordered me to work undercover.”

  “So, the friendship … all to get me to trust you? To convince me to go home?” Anza's tone was clipped.

  “No …” He swallowed, took a deep breath, and grasped her hand in his. He wanted to be completely honest with her. She deserved nothing less. He caught her gaze and held it. “In the beginning, the goal was to get your trust. The friendship came naturally.” He hoped that his sincerity got through her defensive wall. The indecisiveness in her face hurt. He rubbed his chest to ease the pain of it—losing her regard might be the price he had to pay.

  “Is that why you called yourself my keeper?” Her question came after a long silence. She sounded uncertain.

  “No, Anza. That, like our friendship, was unplanned, unexpected. It just happened, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Anza's eyes held his. In earnestness and without words, he pleaded with her to believe him. He felt tears prick behind his eyes, and he swallowed hard to push them back. Anza's gaze softened. She smiled and reached out to touch his cheek.

  He closed his eyes at the relief; the gratitude at whichever god in the universe had gifted Anza with such a generous heart. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss at the centre of her palm. Her hand closed on that kiss and pressed it to her own heart.

  To him, that small action was the most beautiful, most excruciating thing he had ever seen in his life.

  9 The Homecoming

  Veren watched Anza sleep in silence. He had given her antibiotics and pain medication from his kit; and requested the front desk to get some ibuprofen from the doctor nearby for her use in the succeeding days. He told Mrs. Bassig that Anza was suffering from a bad toothache. It was an acceptable reason for her not to question why Anza would be in her bedroom for most of the next two days.

  The next morning, with the sheet wrapped around her, he assisted her to walk around her room for a few minutes. The surgery exhausted her, so Anza spent a lot of time sleeping. Her wound was healing well. Her Erdia genes helped heal her cut faster. Not as fast as someone like him, but it was still quicker than a human's.

  He spoon-fed her, even when she refused. He also made her do breathing and coughing exercises every time she was awake to ensure that she didn’t develop pneumonia. By the evening, Anza was begging him to allow her to take a shower. He would hear none of it.

  They compromised with a partial sponge bath.

  Just before bedtime, he convinced Anza to call her father. He moved to the verandah while father and daughter conversed. He wanted Anza to have the time and privacy to express to her father how she felt about her life, and what she wanted to do.

  The call wasn’t long, and Anza was crying by the time it ended. Worried, Veren went back to the room to comfort her. A tremulous smile accompanied her tears.

  “Did everything go well with your father?” His heart was full of hope for her.

  “Yeah, I apologised. He accepted it. I told him we’ll go home the day after tomorrow. He wanted to send a helicopter for us, but I convinced him not to—I told him the flight is confirmed,” She said, her tone light. She looked relieved.

  “Did you tell him about the absorption?” He wanted to be ready when he faced Manuu Soledad.

  “No.” She shook her head, her eyes intent on him. “That was my decision. It remains mine alone,” she whispered.

  “Okay.” He wasn’t altogether sure if he agreed with that decision, but as Edrigu said, this was her province since it was her liver. Absorption was always a personal decision. He realised he hadn’t thanked her yet, even if he felt it in his soul.

  “Veren, what happens after?” Anza asked, her eyes focused on the corners of the sheet she was twiddling with her fingers.

  He understood what she was asking about, what she was asking for.

  “I don’t know, Anza. I have to go home, and I have military training to focus on.” He had three more weeks of holiday before he was due. He was torn between spending it with her or using the time to fortify his emotional defences against her, which she had demolished with ease.

  “Will you keep in touch?” Anza asked after a while. She seemed to have accepted the fact their lives would diverge, if not the day after tomorrow, soon after.

  “Yes. I will,” he said, response automatic. “If that’s what you want,” he added, not knowing if she wanted this friendship to continue.

  The slowly widening smile on her face soothed the ragged edges of his bruised heart. “Yes, I would like that. Very much, actually.”

  He knew what the promise would cost him, but there was no question about giving it to her. He would keep in touch for as long as she wanted him to. The power to dictate how much of him she wanted in her life would be in her hands. He wouldn’t hinder the spreading of her wings, no matter how it might lead her away from him forever.

  Hopefully, she would need him until she was ready for the kind of love that he could give her. And she would still be there when he became ready to love her the way she deserved to be loved.

  Loving an Erdia like her would be a short-lived bliss for an Aswang like himself. Most of the males of his kind knew this. That was why most of them avoided it—why he should avoid it still.

  It was a heavy price to pay for the surrender of one’s heart for eternity.

  The hour of their flight back to the mainland flew by despite Anza willing for time to slow down. Veren was solicitous, almost overly so. He refused to let her carry anything, not even her backpack. He hovered over her like a mother hen. She allowed him to, because she knew it was his way of thanking her.

  Her wound was healing well. It still stung, but compared to the remembered pain of the surgery, it was negligible. Apart from the inner soreness behind her ribs, no doubt from her traumatised muscles and injured liver, there was nothing wrong with her.

  They had left the wound free of the bandage after the first night to allow it to heal faster. Today, Veren placed a plaster over it so it wouldn’t get chafed by her blouse during travel.

  She thought about what she did and asked herself if she regretted it. Her response was an easy no. The reason she did it had a logical justification for it, but why she gave it to Veren was harder to answer. It just felt instinctive. No rhyme or reason to it.

  They sat in silence, side by side. Her head rested against his bicep by force of habit. It was the most natural thing to do when she felt like dozing off. Her heart hummed with her head on him like this, surrounded by his familiar warmth and smell. As she inhaled, s
he recognised the elusive scent she had been trying to identify in Veren—the telltale musk of a Viscerebus male.

  Her heart smiled, and something settled in her like a missing puzzle piece found.

  After a few minutes, Veren lifted his arm, settled her head against his chest, and pulled her close. His action was spontaneous, and nothing new between them. What she didn’t expect was Veren's larger hand clasping hers up as soon as they sat down. He linked their fingers together, palm resting in palm. His hand tightened on hers periodically during the flight, as if he was reassuring her and himself.

  Two hours on, they both declined meals. She wasn’t that hungry, and she didn’t want to relinquish his hand. He didn’t seem inclined either.

  The jolt of the touchdown registered in her heart, like a final curtain call. Her father would be at the airport to pick her up. Veren would wait for his connecting flight to Manila. And, they would part.

  They kept to their seats until they were the last passengers in the aircraft. They had no check-in luggage, nothing to delay the parting. As they walked on, they slowed their steps as much as they could. Before they turned into the arrival area, Veren stopped her.

  “Anza”—he dropped her hand as he dug his phone out from his backpack—“here's my number. Take it as we might not have time to exchange numbers later when we see your father.”

  She grabbed her phone from her bag and typed it into her phone. “Shall I give you mine?”

  “Text or call me later and I’ll save it.” He wanted to keep to his internal vow to let her take the lead in their relationship.

  She dialled his number, her eyes on him. The phone rang, confirming the number he gave her. That was a burner phone, with a burner number. Normally, he would discard it after a case, as was their training, never to use it again. This time, the phone would remain in his possession. It would be his lifeline, a part of him that only she would own.

  She smiled at him, satisfied. Then, she took a step forward, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. There was one more thing he had to do, and it required going against his own interest.

  “Anza …” He inhaled then let out his breath. “Remember Diego?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  “He might call you in Manila …” he mumbled. “I just wanted to warn you.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. He had given Diego the chance to usurp his position as her keeper. He could only hope that Anza wouldn’t take him up on it.

  “Okay.” Her response was dismissive.

  She took the information like it was of no consequence to her. He didn’t know how to process her reaction. Then Anza grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the arrival area, where he knew her father would be waiting.

  Her welcoming entourage was a party of four: her father, stepmother, a male cousin, and an uncle. They all enveloped her in warm hugs, their circle complete and exclusive.

  And Veren was outside of that circle. Out of place. He watched them admonish her gently in between kisses and hugs. These people clearly loved her. She would be safe and well-cared for.

  “Mr. Albareda?” Manuu Soledad broke off from the group to shake his hand.

  “Yes, Sir,” he said. He kept his face impassive to quell the pain inside of him.

  “Thank you for all the help. For getting her back to us. We owe you an enormous debt of gratitude that we cannot repay. If there is anything I can do for you, just say the word.” Manuu Soledad's effusive gratitude rubbed him raw.

  “Please, don’t mention it, Sir. No gratitude is necessary.” It was time to restart his life. “I have to go, Sir, as I have my Manila flight to catch.” He shook Manuu’s hand.

  He turned towards the departure area, his back ramrod straight. As he walked away, he kept his eyes forward—he didn’t want to look back and see Anza's face. He felt panicked at the idea of saying goodbye to her, and mournful for not being able to.

  One regret was eating at him, he just realised.

  He had wanted to kiss Anza, maybe since the first time he saw her. He never allowed the thought to surface, to even consider it. Her age, his age, their situation—all had stopped him.

  At this moment, he would have given anything for that one brief kiss. But it seemed the kiss would have to wait for the right time, the right circumstances.

  Just as he turned the corner towards the departure area, compulsion made him steal a last glance towards Anza. Her family still surrounded her, but through the gaps between the multiple arms wrapped around her, their eyes connected in the distance. There was a question in her gaze and a promise in his.

  For his life, she willingly gave him a piece of her liver, an organ that she could regenerate. For her sacrifice, he gave her his heart.

  Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t regrow a heart.

  10 The Returning Heart

  Six years later.

  Veren was on the third day of his first-ever holiday since he became an Iztari. They had promoted him: a reward for a hard two years of war to subdue a rebellion among their kind. It was an arduous battle. He almost died during two encounters, but he fought on. The vow he made to himself made him want to live.

  The war ended, but the danger of another one was never far from their minds. It caught the Supreme Viscerebus Tribunal unaware and, as a result, it endangered the lives of every one of their kind from the humans that outnumbered them.

  His mentor, Edrigu Orzabal, had formed a small band of Iztaris, designed to work in complete secrecy to spy, and to preempt any other potential uprising.

  Before they started their official operation, they were all given a chance to rest, recuperate, and fulfil any unfinished business they had left behind. Veren intended to do all of that. If there was something the previous war had taught him, it was that time was fleeting, and he shouldn’t let it bleed away without doing everything in his power to achieve the personal happiness that he craved.

  He selected this location for his first Transit, not for the scenery or the lifestyle. His reason to be here was more compelling. He was on a search and recovery mission—a personal one.

  And according to confidential records, Anza had moved here.

  After the war, he needed to find her. He realised that he had searched for her every day in the most elemental of levels. His work may have occupied his waking hours, but she was never far from his thoughts. She was with him during the lull of each day, the minutes just before he fell asleep, and most often, she appeared in his dreams.

  In the early months of their separation, her messages were friendly, sweet, and innocent. She filled it with accounts of her days, which made his heart ache with longing, and the worst parts were when she reminisced about their days in Basco. That broke his heart every time.

  As he had promised himself, he adopted the same tone as her messages, but with fewer details. He didn’t want to clip her wings as she learned how to fly, nor did he want to anchor her to the ground when she needed to soar.

  The frequency of their exchange dwindled as the contents of her messages changed. It became filled with mentions of other people in her life, new routines and activities. She stopped communicating with him after one year. That is, after Anza’s family left for their Transit.

  He wondered if she had changed, if she was still into photography, music, and poetry. If she still thought about their days in Basco.

  Now, six years after the fact, he was hot on her trail. One of Edrigu’s gifts to him was access to the Soledad family's Transit file. He knew she was here in Madrid, but not her exact address. He would have to do some digging from the local Tribunal. One lead was the Biblioteca Nacional. He had a gut feeling that would lead him to Anza.

  Intuition led him to her that first time. Hopefully, it would guide him to her this time.

  Anza closed the book The Matriarchy—Five Hundred Years of Progressive Viscerebus Existence in the 21st Century. For the past five years, she read as much as she could about the lives of the Viscerebus to make up for the years she ignored
that part of her heritage.

  She grew up with her Aswang kin, bound herself to the Veil that ruled them, yet she had never attempted to get to know them deeper. That was a mistake. She limited herself to knowing her immediate family, but not into understanding them at a core level. She knew their laws, but not why the laws became necessary.

  Her thoughts, as usual, dealt with Veren, her Keeper, whenever she touched upon the subject. She wondered what he was doing at the moment. They had lost touch five years ago when her old phone fell into the sea when they boarded the cruise ship to Europe. It was a holiday before they settled in New Zealand for their Transit.

  She was frantic about it when it happened, but she realised maybe it was meant to be. His previous replies to her messages had become shorter and impersonal. The last one was a single word—“Okay,” which took him two days to send. Perhaps he got busy with work as an Iztari. It could be that he moved on with his life. One that did not include her.

  She then focused her attention on enjoying the freedom she won from her parents. It was hard fought, but it was well worth it. She now lived the life of a human. Her father had given her a reasonable amount of autonomy, with just one caveat—none of her family members would be photographed, mentioned, or recorded in any of her correspondence and social media, except in the most superficial of ways. Also, she needed to spend at least three months a year in Auckland with them.

  When they Transited, she had a choice to keep in contact with her friends by phone, but not with her social media. She kept that account active for two years, hoping that Veren might contact her there, but at his continued silence, she relented and deactivated it.

  Two years after they settled in New Zealand, she moved to Madrid to study. And here she had stayed since. She’d made close friends here, a circle of five girls including Elyse and Rizzi. They had maintained their friendship since high school. Elyse and Rizzi elected to study in Madrid and she found the idea attractive. Summer had been crossing over from Paris twice a year.