The Keeper's Heritage

by Trenna McMullin

  “That is because I was not here,” she said simply, “I do not often stay in Senkutari.”

  “One wonders why not,” he replied.

  “One wishes you would not ask so many questions,” she replied mockingly, “I thought you knew the rules? There’s no talking until after we take the blindfold off. Now get moving.”

  Sukylar sighed and shut his mouth. It was clear that even though he had convinced her he was not about to hurt the city, she still didn’t trust him a bit. Oh well. It didn’t really matter what she thought, as long as he got into the city. Once he was there he would have a brief talk with Vivek and then be gone. So he trudged on through the darkness, treading confidently across unknown terrain and winding his way through trees as he sightlessly made his way towards his destination: the elusive city of Brume.

  * * * * *

  Ky’ara awoke to the gently muted rays of the sun and the sound of softly drizzling rain. She sat up in bed and took in her surroundings, once again acquainting herself with a new place. After quickly washing up, she dressed in a comfortable, somewhat water resistant outfit and went out into the main room of Berd’s little seaside hut. Joran and Taren were just coming inside, presumably from a training session of some sort, and Berd was sitting at the table with a large pot thick porridge. “Good mornin’ to ya!” he greeted her cheerfully, motioning for her to take a seat across from him, “Don’t worry; I haven’t let ‘em have any yet, so there should be plenty to go around!”

  Ky’ara returned his smile and sat in the rough wooden chair. Soon they were all consuming the somewhat lumpy, but warm, porridge. Ky’ara was hungry, but she was careful to take small bites, vigilantly stirring up her gruel to get rid of the lumps, and politely eating as much as she could stand. The bland taste and nauseating texture didn’t seem to put off the men any—Joran and Taren gulped it down as quickly as possible, and Berd ate two bowlfuls as if it was the only meal he’d get all day.

  “Better eat up,” the old man advised, watching her put a miniscule amount into her mouth and swallow convulsively, “It’s the only meal ye’ll get till supper, at least from me, and ye’ll need yer energy for the walk to Evlyn’s.”

  ‘Figures,’ Ky’ara thought sullenly.

  “Can you hurry, Ky’ara?” Joran said impatiently, “we wanted to get an early start.”

  “That’s all right, I’m done,” Ky’ara said, putting down her spoon and standing. Her bowl was not even half-empty. She’d eaten barely enough to be polite, but she just couldn’t stand another bite of the stuff. Some habits never died and one thing Ky’ara would never get used to was the menu of life on the trail—tasteless, nutrient-filled glop or crackers was not exactly the gourmet dining she’d grown up with and for the past month it had seemed that other than the few times that she prepared the meal, that was what they ate. She was sick of it.

  * * * * *

  Joran was happy. Perhaps it was a small thing, but it was the small things that heralded the bigger, more important changes, right? He still couldn’t quite believe it. Ky’ara had not eaten all of her food. She hadn’t taken regular mouthfuls of the meal and steadily worked her way through the food on her dish until it was gone. She’d actually toyed with her food, mixed it and barely eaten any when she didn’t want it. It seemed like a monumental achievement to him. Perhaps she really was moving out of her numbness. It didn’t feel like she was just going through the motions anymore, she was actually putting feeling into the little things that she did! Her mild disgust over a simple thing like breakfast was heartening. Maybe he should pretend to eat a worm and see if he could get another reaction out of her? It had possibilities…

  He saved the thought for later. Right now he had to concentrate on the rocky slope before him. Taren was testing his newly learned tracking skills. Berd had given them a description of where the old lady lived and now it was up to Joran to find the place. Taren had taught him how to pluck the “sense” of a person from someone’s mind (though he still couldn’t do it very well) and then explained how to use that sense to find someone. It was advanced tracking, beyond anything a normal human could do, and required not so much magic but rather a sort of connection with the land and air around him—a perception of who or what had passed through that same space. Which seemed pretty magical to him, but apparently Taren didn’t think so.

  “It’s time to take another bearing,” Taren announced suddenly. Joran sighed. He kept forgetting to stop and check his direction every so often. If Taren had to remind him about things, it meant that he wasn’t doing well. He bent to touch the ground like Taren had told him, still not entirely sure what he was doing and feeling slightly ridiculous. Nothing. He let out a long, slow, breath and closed his eyes, listening and waiting. Closing his eyes seemed to help, and suddenly he realized that the ground underneath his hand was humming. He could feel the steady rhythm of the tide as the waves lapped at the sandy beaches and hear the gentle pulse of the trees growing in the distance. Maybe it would work this time.

  Carefully picturing the lady the old man had described, he sent out a subtle query to the land, asking if it knew her. Yes, came the tacit reply, it did know her, and suddenly he knew with a perfect certainty exactly where they were going. The feeling of triumph faded as he pulled his hand away from the ground and was no longer quite sure if he hadn’t just imagined it all.

  “We’ll go that way,” he said uncertainly, pointing in the general direction he had sensed. Maybe he couldn’t quite place precisely where it should be, but the moment of success had given him greater confidence. He knew he’d be able to find the old woman. Eventually.

  * * * * *

  Taren watched a startled look flash across the boy’s face, and smiled. For someone who seemed so inattentive he certainly caught on quick. Joran had learned the skills of a Keeper in leaps and bounds. He had been skilled at fighting and gathering information before, but now his abilities were approaching Taren’s own in those categories—he rarely missed anything that went on around him and he was becoming extremely perceptive. He would probably never reach Taren’s level of skill with the sword or with multiple weapons’ use, but he wouldn’t need to when his ability to fight with only his knife was near unsurpassable. The boy was even beginning to keep control of his emotions. Well, except for his outburst the day before. Taren wondered briefly if it was simply an effect of trying to bottle up his emotions, or if the strange fog and mysterious disappearances really had had something to do with it. Or it could have been just a ploy of his to get me and Ky’ara alone for a while, he thought ruefully. Joran was cleverer than he seemed, and it was just the type of thing he would think up.

  The young Keeper-in-training led them up a rocky path that approached the short jagged hills bordering the sea shore. A salt laden breeze whistled around them, occasionally bearing the spray of a large wave. They were surprised to note how close the sea was coming to the rough path—at times the waves dashed against giant stones on their left, dousing them in sea water. At high tide the water would nearly be lapping at their feet. It was no wonder Evlyn rarely left her house. The ascent up the trail was dangerous work and Taren wondered briefly how the old woman could have made the climb up here in the first place. He remembered seeing her once or twice in the village when he had first awoken. It seemed impossible that she could have come this way, even with someone to help.

  The answer became readily apparent when they finally crested the hill. A wide green meadow spread before them, tall grasses waving in the wind, and off to the right, leading away from them, was a well-worn dirt path gently sloping down the other side of the hill, leading off towards the village.

  “Shades, Joran!” Ky’ara teased, “Take us the hard way why don’t you?”

  Joran gave her a death glare and regarded the path with pretended disdain. “It leads down to the village. I just took the quickest, most direct way up.”

  “Mmhmm.” Ky’ara smiled vaguely and shook her head in amusement. She indicated a small wooden h
ut perched on the crest of the hill just to their left. “So, are we going to go in?”

  * * * * *

  Lauryn trudged through the fog, her boots squelching in the soft ground. She had been fighting through this swamp for almost an hour with little to show for it. Insects buzzed around her aggravatingly, occasionally coming near and droning deafeningly in her ears. Swatting away one of the little bugs, she pushed aside a patch of overlarge bog grass and splashed through a puddle of water. The ground was getting softer and softer the farther she went. If it got much wetter she’d be wading through sludge.

  “Stupid filthy little bloodsuckers,” she muttered under her breath, slapping an insect as it landed on her neck. She was beginning to tire now, even though it was barely midday, and it was making her short-tempered. Slogging through mud could do that to a person. A light, misting rain had soaked straight through her cloak and clothes, leaving her clammy and cold. The water hadn’t penetrated her oiled boots yet, but it was only a matter of time before her wet pants dripped down into them and then she’d really be sloshing around. She put her foot down on something slippery—an unseen stone beneath the mud—and suddenly her boot was sliding sideways. The water splashed loudly as she caught herself on one knee, barely avoiding falling in altogether.

  “Great!” Lauryn grumbled, “As if I wasn’t wet enough already!”

  She carefully came to her feet and tried to wipe off the mud with one gloved hand, but all she succeeded in doing was to get her gloves wet as well. Her sigh was swallowed up by the fog and for the first time she noticed the almost oppressive silence. The bugs buzzing was muted by the heavy blanket of low hanging clouds, and now that she thought about it, the splash she had made had disappeared almost instantly, swallowed up by the gray mist. It had to be about midday, but the thick vapors in the swamp totally blocked out any light. Not even a bright patch shone through the fog to give her an indication of where the sun might be. She looked behind herself to see only a wall of gray. Ahead of her, the bog grass advanced forward for about a yard, marching in uneven rows like disjointed soldiers in a broken formation, before disappearing completely into the mist.

  A sigh gusted from Lauryn’s mouth and she stopped for a moment to consider. She wasn’t an extraordinary tracker; her main skills lay in running and hiding, not in reading the landscape. If she wanted to, she could probably find her way out, but finding the old house Myrnai had described was beginning to seem next to impossible. The mist was already becoming even denser and a slight touch of claustrophobia was beginning to kick in. It seemed as though the entire world outside the mist had simply disappeared and only she was left, trapped here in this prison of thick grey air.

  She took a few deep breathes, trying to calm herself. Usually Lauryn didn’t mind closed-in spaces. She’d hidden away in little nooks and crannies often when she lived on the streets. Darkness didn’t bother her much either, usually—but for some reason she dreaded being out in this fog when the sun set. An uneasy feeling began to settle over her, but she pushed it away. She didn’t get scared. She hadn’t been so frightened of something since she was five years old. This fog was nothing. The weary girl shook her head and continued forward cautiously, relying on her internal compass to lead her in the right direction.

  An hour later she still hadn’t been able to find the copse of trees Myrnai had described to her and the ground was so wet she was having an impossible time getting through it. She pushed through a thick tangle of weeds and mud, then tripped over a submerged log and nearly lost her boot in the mess. When she regained her balance, she sat down on the log, no longer caring that her cloak was getting filthy and the water was nearly covering her legs.

  It was time to admit it. She was lost.

  * * * * *

  “So, why did you come to visit old Evlyn?” The stooped old woman asked them cheerfully, sitting down and picking up her tea cup full of lemon water.

  Ky’ara and Joran looked at each other, not quite knowing what to make of this eccentric old woman. She had invited them in readily enough and served them stale tea cakes and lukewarm lemon water, then told them to make themselves comfortable. They could even stay for lunch if they wanted to. But then she’d started jabbering about her children who had moved away from the village years ago, how she couldn’t stand the smell of fish, even that she loved going down to the village only so she could bug the other people…and she tended to refer to herself in third person.

  “Come now, you didn’t just come to have some of Evlyn’s cakes or to sip her tea, and you certainly didn’t come just to talk about the weather. Speak up.”

  “Well…” Ky’ara started, “Actually we came to ask you if you knew any old legends about this area…any supposed magical happenings or mystical ruins…and, and such. I’m doing some research, and—”

  “Ah yes. You came because of my husband. Of course! He was a very well respected bard in his day, you know, before the rheumatism crippled his playing fingers and the croup stole his voice…then ol’ death stole him from me and I’m the only one left to tell his stories…yes, no one knows but old Evlyn.” She seemed lost in memories, her eyes glazed over in distant thought, her voice faded to a whisper.

  “Err, yeah,” Joran replied, trying not to laugh.

  ‘She’s a little…odd, isn’t she?’ Ky’ara thought at him.

  ‘Yeah. I don’t think we’re gonna learn anything, but it’s worth a try isn’t it?’ Joran replied, ‘I mean, we did walk all the way up here…’

  Ky’ara smiled, ‘Only because you took the long way up!’

  Joran ignored her comment and turned to the senile old woman. “So could you tell us some of the stories?”

  Evlyn turned her abnormally bright blue eyes on him and smiled toothlessly. He felt uncomfortable under her unblinking gaze.

  “Oh, of course, of course. Evlyn has many stories to tell. But what do you want to know?”

  Ky’ara and Joran exchanged startled looks once again. It seemed that she was trying to hint at something, or suspected something about their story. Taren jumped in before they could figure out how to respond.

  “Greatmum we need to know about the lost city.”

  Evlyn’s eyes grew wider and she tilted her head to one side as she considered him. “Oh. But that was forbidden. My husband was thrown in prison once, for singing those songs. That’s what brought on his rheumatism he thought…not the songs, I mean, the cold dark cell he was—”

  “But you know them?” Ky’ara interrupted excitedly. She remembered when the ban on certain folk songs had been enacted; she’d been only seven at the time…it had just seemed silly then, but now she was beginning to realize that there was more to it than that…now it seemed more sinister.

  “Oh yes, Evlyn knows them, those ones and many more…Yurid learned them from his father, who learned them from his father, who learned them from his father, and so on back to the year the lost city became the lost city. And he sang them for me, yes. But will Evlyn sing them now? You could be spies. The government would love to throw Yurid’s wife in jail too. And if you’re not spies…they wouldn’t like me to tell you.”

  She shook her head sadly and then looked at them contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you are spies?”

  Ky’ara shook her head, a bemused smile playing at her lips.

  “I thought not.” Evlyn nodded to herself. “Okay, I’ll tell you about the lost city. But it’s just a story! The ruins of a powerful city don’t exist, they’re lies told by the rebel traitors who seek to undermine our society…well, that’s what they told Yurid in prison anyways.

  “Over five hundred years ago magical druids fought against the evil armies of a dark being known as the Destroyer…they don’t teach you that in schools anymore, do they, boy?” She suddenly turned to Joran, who shook his head hesitantly, and she cackled. “Well, the druids weren’t very careful and so they were overthrown. Then their city just vanished.”

  “You mean it was razed to the ground, don’t y
ou? The armies destroyed it completely,” Ky’ara put in, looking to Taren for backup, but he just shrugged.

  “No, little girl, I mean disappeared!” The old woman rounded on her, “Vanished into thin air till there was nothin’ left but the grass it had been sittin’ on!”

  Ky’ara was taken aback by her vehemence, but just nodded compliantly and waited for Evlyn to continue.

  “So, after this city was all destroyed and disappearized the government gets set up and then a couple hundred years or so pass and magic is outlawed, and then another couple hundred years pass and the trolls are driven out entirely, though rumor says they’re comin’ back now, and I don’t think they’d ever really gone…as long as they kept away from the capital and only occasionally bothered border towns, the government could just attribute it to crazy country folk wanting attention… ”

  “So, when the city disappeared, where did it go?” Ky’ara asked hesitantly, when the old woman remained silent after trailing off.

  “How’m I supposed to know! Disappeared is disappeared! That generally means no one knows where it is anymore!” the old woman berated her, jerking to attention indignantly.

  “But isn’t there anything more you might know about it?” Taren prompted, “Any more recent stories? Anything to indicate that it was anywhere near…say, here?”

  The elderly woman smiled and took a sip of her lemon water. “I did hear say that there was a few strange happenins around here, but those was before my time. My pa…his cousin once got blown off course in a heavy fog and found hisself upriver a ways, swears he passed by a haunted island…but then, he was always a little too fond of his drink…and no one knows which river he was even talkin’ about. I also seem to remember that a few years ago…or was it a few months ago? I don’t remember…a young man washed ashore and didn’t have any memory of who he was or where he came from…maybe he could tell you more about the city.”