The Keeper's Heritage

by Trenna McMullin

  Ky’ara, Joran, and Taren were prepared to leave the next morning in order to dig for information in the old fishing village were Taren had awoken, and in six weeks’ time they were to meet up with Lauryn and Sukylar in Veré. Amischel remained in Kaltor, determined to help out with the children when she discovered that Jenie was expecting another child. But Ky’ara secretly wondered if it had anything to do with not wanting to travel too far away from Sukylar’s older brother.

  So, bright and early the next morning, Ky’ara, Taren, and Joran saddled up and rode out. They exited the city to the west and traveled in a northwesterly direction for the remainder of the day, making camp just before nightfall. It was strange having only the three of them once more, after months of being surrounded by so many other people. Ky’ara found that she did like the solitude, even if it meant it was harder to stay away from Taren.

  ‘Ky’ara?’

  The voice startled her out of her thoughts. It had been so long since she had mindspoken with Joran that it nearly frightened her to hear a voice inside her head.

  ‘What are you doing, Joran?’ Ky’ara asked, carefully channeling her voice only through their link, so it wouldn’t broadcast to Taren as well, a trick she had learned not long after their arrival in Doraicolé.

  ‘I haven’t talked to you for a long time; I don’t want to get out of practice.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Ky’ara was slightly annoyed, not only because he was keeping her awake, but because she had nearly forgotten what real human companionship felt like—she hadn’t allowed anyone close to her since Myrnai had arrived—and she was beginning to realize how much she had missed the simple connection that she shared with Joran. She didn’t like the reminder.

  ‘No, it’s not. I just…never mind.’ His reply was hesitant and it instantly saddened her how afraid he seemed to be just talking to her. What had she put him through these last months?

  ‘Go on Joran, what did you need to talk about?’ Ky’ara asked, taking pity on the boy. He was virtually alone out here with them. Since Taren and Ky’ara wouldn’t speak to each other, he was stuck as a sort of ‘go-between’. That was never a fun position to be in.

  ‘Well…do you think Lauryn will be alright? I mean, she is pretty young and traveling out here all alone is dangerous, maybe…’

  ‘Joran, I think Lauryn can take care of herself. She’s not much younger than you and you’ve traveled around on your own a lot, by the sound of things,” Ky’ara pointed out.

  ‘I know, but—‘

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Really.’

  The thought that Joran had turned to her with his fears cheered her slightly, but it shot an inkling of pain into her to realize that he really cared about Lauryn that deeply…it seemed everyone had someone now. She shook herself out of this self-pitying state of mind and tried to be more cheerful. Hopefully Joran hadn’t caught a sense of the way her thoughts had gone; she didn’t want him worrying about her…though it was probably a little late for that, at this point.

  ‘Thanks.’ The boy accepted her reassurance readily, and the anxious feelings she had sensed quickly evaporated.

  ‘So…um, how are you doing?’ he asked warily.

  Ky’ara sighed mentally, wondering if this wasn’t the true reason why he had wanted to talk to her. ‘I’m doing…all right…I guess.’

  Now it was Joran’s turn to sigh. ‘No you’re not. Not really anyways, but there isn’t really much to do about that…I just wish you would confide in me. I only get a very vague sense of how you feel. But I guess it’s your choice.’

  Ky’ara started to protest, but Joran overrode her halfhearted objections.

  ‘No, you’re not all right, not even close. But maybe you will be, eventually. Maybe traveling in closer proximity will help you get over this, but maybe it won’t. I don’t know. But I hope you figure out how to solve this…and soon—because I don’t think you’re up to any sort of fight right now and you never know what we’ll encounter out here.’

  There was a short silence while Ky’ara took in everything that he had said. She knew he was right. It was almost the same argument Mier had made before they left, but she still couldn’t face it. Not now. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. So she rationalized it away and convinced herself that she was fine, even as the familiar ache tore through her heart.

  ‘Well…goodnight,’ Joran said tentatively when there was no answer.

  ‘Goodnight Joran.’

  Ky’ara cut off the contact and closed her eyes once more, willing sleep to come and wash away the pain that engulfed her. Sleep, even sleep troubled with strange dreams when she tossed and turned and woke often, was preferable to waking life these days. Only sleep brought relief from her constant thoughts of Him. Sleep brought the mystery of the island, and now the forest. The mystery of what the fog concealed consumed all of her attention and only then did she forget the pain—if only momentarily.

  The next morning she awoke feeling oddly irritated, though she couldn’t imagine why. She rinsed her face with cold water to chase the sleep away and caught sight of her reflection in the basin of water. She looked terrible. No wonder Joran had asked if she was alright. Her hair was mussed from sleeping of course, but that didn’t account for the deep purple shadows under her eyes or the dead expression she wore. She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace and no matter how high she lifted the corners of her mouth, the expression never reached her eyes. Those were cold and lifeless, distinctly intimidating. She sighed and brushed out her hair, fully aware that Taren, who had taken the second shift of guard duty last night, was watching her. With deft fingers she plaited her hair into two braids and wrapped them around her head like a crown, pinning them neatly into place and smoothing her hair down with a drop of water to keep it from frizzing. It was practical and pretty, and gave her empty expression a more regal cast. With little hope, she gently rubbed at the shadows under her eyes in an attempt to make them fade. When she was finished she looked, if not good, at least a bit better than before, and she felt up to facing the day.

  Joran was awake now. He watched her curiously for a moment before asking, “Why do you look like you’ve been missing out on sleep? You didn’t even have guard duty last night and you haven’t had to take it at all this trip…but you look like you haven’t had rest for weeks.”

  Ky’ara shrugged. “I’ve had some strange dreams, that’s all. I can’t seem to sleep through the night. They keep waking me up.”

  Not to mention I’ve cried myself to sleep a fair number of times and that hasn’t helped much with the bags under my eyes either... she thought ruefully.

  “Hmm.” Joran shrugged as well and turned back to rolling up his sleeping gear and packing everything back onto his horse.

  Taren was watching her again, a puzzled frown crossing his face. He looked like he was about to ask something, but when she glanced over at him, he dropped his gaze and closed his mouth. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he resumed the stoic expression he had taken to wearing and bent to help Joran pack up the camp.

  They traveled mostly west now, headed for the coast and the scattered fishing villages that bordered the Vesperian Ocean. It took them a little over a week to reach the western mountains—which rose out of the prairie rather suddenly—and then another week to find their way through to the other side. This leg of the journey was particularly dangerous; they had to take special care to avoid the colonies of Diek Syth trolls that had apparently taken up residence in the mountain caves.

  Ky’ara still avoided speaking directly to Taren. Once, Joran had left them alone to scout ahead for a campsite. The silence just seemed to stretch between them, tangible and dense. Ky’ara had wanted to say something—anything—but couldn’t. Until they resolved the issue of his feelings for Myrnai, saying anything else seemed pointless. She just couldn’t quite bring herself to ask the question that might define, once and for all, where his feelings stood.

  As the days passed, t
heir proximity to the coast grew more and more evident. They were no longer in the plains that dominated the interior of the continent, or surrounded by the weathered red-stone passes they’d just traversed. The ground was uneven and hilly, dotted with trees of all types and engraved with small creeks and tributaries that eventually became wide rushing rivers. These in turn flowed into lakes and in due course made their way to the sea.

  It also became increasingly evident that there was something not quite right with the kingdom. Ky’ara had experienced this to a much lesser degree the moment she had left the capital with Joran and begun her journey to Doraicolé. Now it was almost startlingly apparent that the government was not doing its job. The cities were overcrowded and falling apart, but the people didn’t dare move to the country. The farmers were having difficulty growing crops because their fields kept being trampled by the trolls that apparently now roamed unchecked across this part of the land. Food was starting to become scarce.

  Along with this, the countryside was being systematically ravaged by something else. Empty farmhouses dotted the terrain and Ky’ara viewed them with puzzlement. It didn’t seem likely that trolls had chased off the occupants…the buildings themselves were undamaged. In the few villages they passed through, the residents were closemouthed and brusque, entirely distrusting of strangers, and unwilling to give even the faintest clue why. One thing was clear, though—they were frightened. And hardened country folk weren’t easily frightened by wild animals or even trolls—something else was going on.

  * * * * *

  Iregh shifted uneasily from foot to foot. His master had summoned him countless times since the odd visit to his chambers, always wanting to know about his progress with getting through the girl’s defenses. A few weeks ago he had been able to determine that she had left the rebel fortress. He’d nearly danced with glee at finally being able to work without the weight of that ancient mountain rebuffing his every try—it was exhausting work and his master was unhappy with his lack of progress. Now he was able to send whatever he could at the girl…the trouble was it didn’t seem to have any effect. The crystal still deflected his magic. His master had not pressured him any more lately…the cold disapproval he sensed was enough to keep him at it, despite the futility of the task.

  “You have not made any more progress in exploiting the girl’s emotional turmoil.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No, my liege.” He wasn’t sure where this was going, but something prickled in the back of his mind. Keerason had been gone for months now and with Ekzhad dead Iregh found himself without anyone to share the blame for his failures.

  “It was a remote possibility, I suppose. No matter, she will be dealt with soon enough.”

  Iregh hid his relief. Clearly something else was going right, for his master to be in such a good mood…if that’s what this could be called.

  “I’ve decided to redirect your talents. I’ve decided to take a more open approach to getting rid of all those pesky rebel spies. As we speak, the King is issuing orders for their capture. I need you to hasten the process—let’s see how well our little Ysinkai can function with a target on her back.”

  Iregh nodded. This was easy. A murmured word here and there and the couriers with the proclamations would be able to reach their targets in half the time, with no memory of the nights spent riding at breakneck speed on magically sustained mounts. Sure, a few horses might die in the process and the couriers themselves might suffer some mental trauma, but that was nothing to him.

  “You’ll also need to acquire an artist to sketch the likeness of the boy…His arrest would have the most effect on both the rebel leader and our little friend. I don’t care how you arrange for it to be on the proclamation—the King won’t bother with such a trivial detail, just be sure it is delivered to the scribes before they begin the posters.”

  Iregh couldn’t help himself. He sighed in frustration. “Will Keerason be back soon, my liege? He is much better suited to running errands…”

  “Keerason won’t be coming back.” His master waved a hand to cut his protests short.

  “What?” Iregh felt the unease in the back of his mind push its way to the forefront. Something had not been right about his friend’s absence. He’d felt that for months…but why kill him? Keerason had always been the most loyal of them all. Where Iregh served out of fear and respect, Keerason had served with doglike loyalty…love even. He wasn’t the cleverest or most useful in many respects, but he was the one who their master most trusted. He never had his own agenda and he never questioned.

  “Keerason has done me a great service. His sacrifice will restore my most useful tool… I would advise you to remember that next time you think about questioning me.”

  Iregh nodded, cold anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach as he turned to go. He would remember it all right. Questioning was dangerous…but apparently, so too was loyalty.

  * * * * *

  The day was slightly chilly, though relatively warm compared to how cold it had felt a week ago, and the sun was shining brightly through a small break in the clouds. Ky’ara rode at the back of their trio, staring blankly at the ground in front of her and concentrating on mentally translating what she saw into the Ancient Language. It took all her attention to summon the unfamiliar words from where they lay buried in her subconscious, leaving no room for unwanted thoughts—or emotions.

  Joran glanced back at her periodically, but Ky’ara ignored his tentative attempts to make eye contact. After gently probing to see what she was thinking, he shrugged and turned away, riding forward to engage Taren in a conversation about fighting techniques. Ky’ara breathed a sigh of relief and let down the barriers she had erected to keep Joran from probing too deeply. Then she turned her attention full force back to describing her surroundings. She was searching for the word to describe the color of a small purplish stone on the path in front of her when it hit her. A sudden wave of emptiness.

  Ky’ara jerked upright in the saddle and looked around, searching for the source of the feeling. At first it was hard to pinpoint it. The strange sensation seemed to come from everywhere, but after a moment’s contemplation she determined that it was coming from just ahead and a little to the right. Putting aside everything else, she rode forward at a faster clip, passing the boys and breaching the rise ahead of them.

  “Hey, Ky’ara! What—” Joran started to exclaim. But the sight ahead cut him off abruptly.

  The bare skeleton of a farmhouse rose wraithlike before them, only a few supporting beams and a small part of one wall remained standing. The rest of the house was scattered over the land around it. It had been torn apart somehow—utterly obliterated—with no sign of what had done it. Ky’ara had never seen anything like it. It was ten times worse than the effects of the giant whirlwinds that sometimes swept over the plains, worse than what even an army of trolls would—or could—do. Only one natural thing could have so utterly destroyed such a large house, and there was no sign that fire had touched the structure.

  They rode through the wreckage carefully, avoiding the shrapnel embedded in the ground around them. Ky’ara dismounted and struggled to pull a tile shingle from the trunk of a tree. Shattered glass, farm tools, and the remains of household furniture surrounded them. Taren put a hand on one of the remaining beams of the house.

  “I’ve never seen a funnel-storm get so far inland,” he said quietly.

  “A funnel-storm?” Ky’ara asked, giving him a startled look.

  “Like a giant whirlwind, but bigger. They pick up water from over the ocean and blow inland in a spiral—the winds are incredibly strong and the rain is so hard it can shatter trees and destroy houses. It’s the only thing I can think of that could have done this,” Taren replied offhand, staring at the mess before them.

  “I’m not sure,” Ky’ara said after a moment. He looked at her, baffled that she would voice a contrary opinion when it was so obviously the only explanation.

  “The trees themsel
ves aren’t damaged…” Ky’ara whispered, putting her hand on a tree and closing her eyes. An unexpected sensation surged into her, a sudden rush of fear and anger. Startled, she took her hand off the tree and opened her eyes. Had the sensation come from the tree? Slowly, she placed her hand back on the rough bark, concentrating carefully. Nothing came. She closed her eyes again and probed carefully, sensing something…but it slipped from her grasp and wouldn’t return. She sighed in frustration and opened her eyes, suddenly feeling silly.

  Taren was watching her curiously and Joran had one eyebrow raised and a faintly questioning smile on his face. She shrugged and dropped her gaze, then continued through the wreckage, trying to figure out what was bugging her. The very land around her seemed to be screaming somehow, but whenever she tried to concentrate on it, the feeling disappeared. The emptiness that had drawn her here permeated everything in the same manner—any attempts to discover what exactly it was only made it fade away. A shadow fell across the ground in front of her and she looked up to see if it was a bird or a cloud. Nothing was there.

  A dreadful feeling filled her and she looked back down at the shadow. With a blink she changed her vision to the Sight…and nearly threw up as a wave of nausea came over her. It was magic. Magic had done this—magic of a sort she had only encountered once before. The memory of pain lanced across her back and she winced before she could suppress the reflex. The shadow-magic coated everything and it was steadily seeping away—but to where she couldn’t tell. One strand undulated slightly as she probed it with a touch of magic, and then the shadows began to slowly flow towards her. She backed away from the suddenly malevolent strands of darkness and tripped over a piece of wreckage, scrambling back in fear.