“Under the Keepers, he will learn to harness his power,” said the Silver Keeper as Sune’s mother cried, the others around her casting jealous glances in her direction. The stipend would be enough for his father to leave the Ridge, and Sune would no longer have to risk his life on the mountain every day. Her only son and her husband both protected in a stroke of luck.
The Keeper ran his fingers along the cord on Sune’s neck, finding the knot and holding it out for all to see. “When he returns, this shall be a lock. No longer will he be knotted!”
A carriage came within the day for Sune, as soon as he had packed his belongings. Red carpet rolled out from the cabin, untouched by dust, and the Silver Keeper himself ushered him inside, the smell of a fresh roasted bird wafting out from within. Draysky’s mouth watered as he watched the carriage pass, turning away from his work clearing shale from his house siding. There were spices his nose could not recognize; something sharp and tangy, like a fruit that was not quite ripe. As his stomach growled, his grandmother huffed, her eyes narrowing and a scowl crossing her face as the cart passed.
Draysky never saw Sune return to the outpost, but the letters came twice a year, along with the stipend. Smoke always poured from his family’s chimney, their firewood stacked high, the stains slowly fading from his father’s arms. And sometimes, as he repaired the rooftop thatching atop his house, staring south past the Alsi, to where the mountains became hills and the snow turned to grass, Draysky wondered if Sune had found another outpost. If he had become a Keeper there, and brought their people a better life.
Chapter 6: Lucille
The final row of Keepers trickled into the auditorium just after noon, each taking a reserved seat that faced the audience. Hundreds of faces stared back, the hair on each of their heads rustling in the breeze that coursed through the stretching windows on each side, their expressions expectant. The room they were in was peculiar—at first glance, it appeared more like a roofed amphitheater, with thick columns around the perimeter acting as supports. Only when walking to the edge and peering down could one tell it was twenty stories up a tower as dark as night, at the very center of the city of Consuo.
Lucille crossed her legs in the front row of the crowd, one knee perfectly fitting atop the other, her heart pounding as the last of the figures took their seats. She looked left down the aisle, where thirty-eight others her age sat, by her count, each staring forward. She scowled at the empty chair in the middle, for no other reason than because it made the row uneven, and therefore unbalanced. Well, not only for that reason. Martin should be in that seat. Martin, who had departed upon an urgent call for support in quelling reports of trolls in the west and would likely be gone for several years. She touched the bracelet on her wrist, the one that he had given her to remember him by; then she wrenched her dissatisfaction away, and looking right she saw nothing but the city, far below, framed by the open black window of the obsidian Tower.
"Welcome," said a woman at the center of the reserved chairs that faced the crowd. She commanded attention, with an acute jaw and hard eyes surrounded by trails of dark makeup. A High Keeper, she was among the upper ranks of those present. She wore a black dress that mimicked the Tower itself covered her frame, her hands clasped across her lap such that her long red nails shone, and a diamond-studded padlock the size of a fist hung from a chain about her neck. To her left were four others, and to her right were three more with one empty chair, each matching her attire except for the padlocks about their necks, their own fashioned from gold.
"Welcome," said the High Keeper again, extending her hands toward the entire crowd. Lucille's heart raced as she looked back over her shoulder. At the farthest row back, the robes were an eggshell white, the padlocks replaced by rough knotted rope, and the faces the youngest. Then a few rows forward the dress became light grey, the padlocks changing to fabric. Full grey was the next color, that of ash, while the padlocks in that section were hardened fabric, and those aged into nearly adolescence. Finally there was Lucille's segment, where no one color dominated the selection of robes, the padlocks were wooden, and the occupants were all young adults.
"Today," continued the High Keeper, standing, "we welcome those among our ranks that have gained wisdom. We welcome those that are ready for their next step in their journey, that are prepared to better serve. Today we forge new locks!"
"That they may never be unfastened," chanted the ranks.
"That they never be," confirmed the High Keeper. "The first matter of importance is for the promotions of the unrefined. Justice Four, if you shall give the names."
"Twenty in all," spoke the woman immediately to her right, wrinkles cut deep into her face and her voice threatening to falter with the slightest impurity in the air. "Twenty whose shoulders are burdened with the knowledge of the world. Twenty who bear the scars of the past! And twenty who will tighten the hold on the future."
The High Keeper stared at a list in her hands, and she began to read. "Petunia!"
From far behind Lucille, in the eggshell white section, a young girl rose to her feet and walked briskly up the aisle, her cheeks red and eyes wide.
"Do you accept," began Justice Four when Petunia stood before her, only half her size, "the chains that hold together a broken world? Are you ready to be bound into further responsibility? Do you swear to never seek freedom from the burden, but rather wrap it tighter, and seal the locks shut?"
"Yes, I do!" cried the girl, standing on her tiptoes such that her forehead nearly came to the height of the Justice's chin. "Yes!"
"The shears, Burden One," commanded Justice Four, and a young man appeared, his muscles and stature larger than any of the group. In his hands he held shears as long as his arm, and the Justice produced a fabric lock. With a snick she fastened it around Petunia's neck, then stepped backward as Burden moved forward, his shears angled at the young girl's throat.
"Only as a greater burden is shouldered can the previous be removed," said Burden One, his voice strangely young when compared to the Justice, and he worked the shears, his triceps easily pushing the blades through rope.
The old knot fell to the ground with a flutter, and Justice Four bent over to retrieve it, holding it in a shaking and gnarled hand.
"That the trials of yesterday bring the wisdom of tomorrow," she said, and she threw the knot toward the window of the auditorium. It collided with the floor, skittering across the obsidian until it tumbled off the edge, toppling over and falling to the ground of the city far below.
Then she produced a robe, this one light grey, and offered it to Petunia, who accepted and withdrew back into the crowd to find her new seat among the higher segment.
Nineteen other names were read by Justice Four, nineteen other knots shorn and cast away, and nineteen robes distributed.
Then the High Keeper addressed the light grey segment. Fifteen names were read, fifteen fabric locks cut and discarded, by Burden Two this time, and fifteen new locks and robes received.
"Next, to those ready for the graduation into our order," said the Highest Keeper to those in grey, "Long have you walked this path, and long have you awaited this moment. Ten of you shall receive wooden locks that shall remind you of the earth from where you originated. Ten of you have been tested thoroughly and deemed worthy."
Lucille shuddered as she remembered her own tests, the nights spent treading icy water until she could no longer support herself to prove devotion, the rigorous sifting of her knowledge by questions shouted by each of the seven Locks, and the days fasting without food or water along with other trials. Tests that the Keepers had designed for others to fail, in a lesson of humility, before receiving their wooden locks—tests that Lucille had passed. And by the time her mind returned to the auditorium, nine new full members had received their new locks, locks that matched Lucille's, and rejoined the crowd. Then the last came and went, and the auditorium fell silent again, even the breeze from the window faltering.
Then the High Keeper spoke, her vo
ice so light that those in the back leaned forward.
"Among these promotions, there is still one left that is greatest. There has recently been a vacancy among our officers, a position that must be filled for the good of the Order. A chair that is now empty because the last inhabitant could not stand under the burden. The chair of Lock One in Consuo.
"As you know, there is no test for this position. The test is the position, and should the Lock fail, there is no place among the Keepers for them. They shall be cast out.
"I remind you that only the most esteemed among us shall ever arise to the position of Lock. Most will never be considered for the role, nor desire it. But among us is a prodigy, one who has shown such great aptitude for the values of our order that the Seven are ready to welcome her into our entry ranks. One who might very well wear the heaviest of locks around her neck in the future and be worthy to take the place of the Highest Keeper.
"So it is with great honor, and great responsibility, that I call our newest Lock to the stand. The first Lock, the guardian of the entry into Heaven One, the lowest of the divine."
Lucille held her breath, trying to catch the High Keeper's eye as those around her turned to watch her expression, already predicting the announcement that came from the Highest Keeper' lips.
"Lucille."
Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her as Lucille walked toward the High Keeper. Just a few years ago, she never would have considered the honor possible—nor would any of the assembly. Now, the lock she was receiving would have a single golden stud upon it, the sign of a Lock. A lower Lock, one with dominion only over Heaven One, but the first step to becoming one of the highest ranked.
Pride flowed through her as she crossed the floor. It was virtually unheard of to enter the ranks at only seventeen years old. The youngest she had ever heard of was nineteen, and that was for a Burden, whose main priority was the collection of knowledge. The majority of her days would be spent behind a desk, or deep in a library, safely tucked away. Lock was different. Lock was on the front lines. Only half of the lower Locks would continue their journey, the others were either killed or excommunicated.
But it was the Locks who stood the straightest, who commanded whispers whenever they entered a room. And it was Locks that were given the resources to advance the quickest.
When Lucille reached the High Keeper and bowed, she could barely blink away the tears. Burden Three removed her old lock and produced a new one—not only studded, but polished and stained so much it seemed to emit its own light, despite it being wooden. Lucille knelt before Justice Four as the new lock was clasped around her neck, and her tears threatened to overflow as she met her mother’s proud gaze above her. The gaze of the High Keeper commanding the ceremony that day. Justice Five.
Lucille’s belongings had been moved for her by the time she reached her new quarters. With each rank of Keeper, there was an associated elevation within the Tower. The youngest and most inexperienced took the ground floor while the majority of the graduated Keepers scattered to the middle section. The Locks occupied the highest of each section, their room the top of the level.
“Rest your eyes, darling. You’ve earned our name,” her mother had said as Lucille took stock of her new room, of the enormous bed that filled an entire corner, its sheets dark as night, and its drapes like rearing shadows. “Tomorrow, the true work begins. Tomorrow, you learn what it takes to be a Lock.”
Lucille had taken her mother’s advice, smiling as she drifted into slumber. But part of her remained restless, as she remembered what happened to those who failed at their positions. Lucille had been like that once, always coming up short. Would she fall back into her old ways?
The next morning she was roused by three personal servants, a steaming breakfast brought to her before she could cast off the covers and the water in her bath piping hot. When her mother came for her, she was ready. Ready for the day, and ready for her new life. Ready to become the lowest Lock in Consuo.
“Where I am taking you,” her mother said, as they ascended stairs, climbing to the top of the first section of the Tower, “only the officers are given access to, and no others can enter without their express permission. This, daughter, is the beginning of our secrets. This is where we keep our purpose. Our responsibility.”
They reached a double door at the top of the stairwell. Two armored guards waited at the top, accompanied by a Keeper, who bowed to her mother. Stepping forward, her mother held her lock against a circle painted on the door.
“Now that you have a stud upon your lock, you too can open this. This is for the first level of Locks, and only they can enter.” With a click, the door opened inward, and her mother stepped inside, Lucille trailing behind her.
“This is what you wanted to show me?” Lucille asked, looking about the expanse. “Mother, it’s nearly empty.”
“It is anything but,” responded her mother, and Lucille studied the room, the walls solid obsidian with no windows, a perfect cylinder around her, with shelves latched onto the perimeter. In the center of the room was a circle perhaps thirty yards in diameter, white painted outlines flashing in the light from torches spaced just outside the ring. And on the shelves there were dozens of objects, objects tucked away and labeled, each appearing as if they belonged in a general store as opposed to the Tower.
“As you know, Lucille,” her mother said, walking around the painted circle, “we Keepers are protectors. We control the flow of materials from the heavens. We prevent the power from residing in the wrong hands. As Lock, you are not merely the height of your level in name, so too must you be in knowledge and skill. There must be none who can best you, for you are the height of our order. Here, we provide the tools for your advancement, to prove to us and your peers that we have chosen correctly.
“Here, is your private study. Your experimentation room for advancement. And what occurs in this room is for you alone to know, as you advance in the arts.”
Chapter 7: Clave
There were few allowed near the obsidian Tower of Consuo. And fewer allowed in it.
Clave was one of them. Technically, he was two of them.
The Keepers, especially the higher ranks, lived within the Tower. And since the Keepers had more important tasks than to dust corners and sweep hallways, those duties fell upon servants.
But even among the servants, there was a hierarchy. The best servants ascended to the higher floors, where they cared for the top ranks, some of them so personal as to fetch them favors in the night, deliver their food, or whisper messages to their beside. Those servants were given the best wages, the most freedom to move about, top uniforms, and more trust than the others.
For over a century, Clave's family had been servants to the Keepers. During that time, his forefathers had done everything possible not to climb that ladder. They were the lowest, allowed only on the ground floor, expected to be unseen in their daily activities. Every few years one of the Keepers would swear to out them for their incapable work, such as dirt that had not been cleaned from the tiles two hours after a storm, or for cobwebs building up in the doorways, but always his ancestors had managed to redeem themselves just in time, upon their final warning, only to enter into bad graces once they had been forgotten again.
And that was their plan, since the beginning. As the Keepers tightened their grip over access to the heavens, his ancestors volunteered themselves into near slavery, sacrificing their lives to not just be near the Tower but to be in it, at the lowest level. With each generation, they had passed down a key. Which in the obsidian Tower, was no small task.
Keys were strictly forbidden within the Tower, meaning all residences were required to use coded locks or other means to secure the doors. To bring a key within a fifty foot radius of the Tower’s base was enough to secure a year in prison. At the entry doors, the punishment jumped to ten years. Within the Tower itself, punishment was death.
For keys existed to unlock locks, and that was precisely what the Keepers in
tended to prevent.
But as inept as Clave's ancestors were at handling their daily tasks, not once had they slipped up to reveal their key, a bone white, jagged shaft that had not seen sunlight in over a century.
Instead, whenever they could sneak away from their duties, Clave's ancestors had walked down the maze of shafts of the obsidian Tower, to the very bottom, where a trapdoor with a single hole in it had lain at the center of a small hidden room. And taking the utmost care that they had not been followed, they inserted the key, opened the door, and descended beyond.
In his entire line of ancestors, that had been their greatest secret.
But Clave had one even greater.
While Clave's ancestors had only traveled to the Tower depths when their janitorial duties were satisfied, and were still required to maintain a general presence about the Tower, Clave could spend day after day in the depths without arousing suspicion.
For Clave had an identical twin to complete his share of the work, and the Keepers never knew.
"Clave!"
The attendance call startled him from where he stood in line at the servant's quarters, his eyes still drooping from sleep as the low ranking Keeper read it out, a wooden lock dangling above her chest.
"Here," mumbled Clave as she checked his name off the list and peered down her nose at him. She was new as a supervisor, and in Clave’s opinion new supervisors were always trouble. They were too observant, too excited to make changes that altered his careful daily routine.
"Clave, I'll have you know that yesterday you missed three hallways when sweeping the lower passages. Three, Clave. Even for you that's abhorrent. I won't stand for that type of behavior, Clave, not under my watch. You'll be down on the streets if it continues. In my opinion, it should have happened decades ago."
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