The Keeper Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by JA Andrews

  Alaric nodded.

  “Her Majesty also wants you to know that your horses will be saddled and ready for you at first light.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything before then, anything cleaned or brought to you, please let us know.”

  “I think I will be fine, Matthew,” Alaric said. “Besides, your conscientious cleaning crew already came by this afternoon.”

  Matthew’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. Following his gaze, Alaric saw muddy stains on the tile by the door from when he had first arrived, drapes still pushed back unevenly from when he had first looked out the window, and a candle knocked over on his desk lying in a hardened puddle of wax.

  “I sent no one to clean your room today,” Matthew said. “And if any of my people had done this shoddy a job, they would be unemployed by now.”

  Alaric’s heart stuttered. It was only his pack and his cloak that had been tidied.

  He pushed himself off the bed and sank down next to his pack, dumping it upside down on the floor. He searched through the contents before swearing. It wasn’t here.

  Gustav had taken back his ominous medallion.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  By the time the sky began to lighten the next morning, Alaric wasn’t sure he had slept at all. His mind churned with the same thoughts that had plagued him all night. Ayda, Gustav, the Wellstone. The theme of Alaric’s failure to see the truth of things wound through his thoughts. It was like a snake, hissing accusations and constricting tighter and tighter.

  After taking leave of the queen who was already awake and in her study, Alaric went to the stables. In the east, the sun rose behind the remnants of the storm clouds, turning them a molten orange-red. The vibrancy of the morning felt like a personal affront to the despondency settled deep in Alaric’s bones.

  Their horses had been readied, and the others were preparing to leave when Alaric joined them. Alaric studied Ayda for a moment. She was chatting easily with Milly, her hair glittering with flashes of copper. Alaric readied Beast mechanically, realizing he had absolutely no idea what to do about Ayda.

  He gathered the others together and told them about Gustav.

  “I hate that wizard,” Ayda said. “It’s even harder to pay attention to him than it is to the rest of you. I couldn’t even work up the interest to look at that lord.”

  Alaric had spent a good portion of the restless night wondering how he had missed noticing Gustav again. Alaric couldn’t even reconstruct a good picture of Horwen’s face. He mostly remembered his doublet with the white hawk. That and the fact that he was old and slightly daft. Horwen had seemed unimportant, a nuisance to be suffered. And the day had been full of so many distractions. Ewan, Saren, Duke Thornton. Gustav had taken advantage of all those things to distract him.

  The nuance of the wizard’s influence spell was staggering. A normal influence spell would distract someone by suggesting something particular to them. This is how you could recognize an influence spell. If someone suddenly had an overwhelming interest in mushrooms, or staring at a blank wall, it was a sign. But Gustav’s was different. Somehow, he managed to cause each person to be distracted by the things they would most naturally be distracted by.

  “I have never heard of anyone using influence in such a far-reaching, subtle way as Gustav does,” Alaric said. “I’m not even positive he knows what his spells will draw. I don’t think he expected to see us at the palace. I think he just casts out nets for things he needs and sees what is drawn in. Maybe a web is a better analogy. And he’s the spider waiting to see what is caught. It’s entirely possible that the fact we ran into Menwoth was Gustav’s doing.”

  “Why was Gustav even at the palace?” Brandson asked.

  “His official reason was studying maps in the library,” Alaric said. “I’m guessing he was looking for some clue as to where Mallon might be in the Greenwood. The Keepers are on good terms with the elves, and we know barely anything about their woods. I can’t imagine the Shade Seekers know anything at all.”

  They saddled up, all subdued, and headed out of the palace in silence.

  “This isn’t all bad,” Milly said as they passed out of the western city gates. She ignored all the eyebrows that statement raised. “We missed our chance to stop Gustav at the palace, but we now know that he’s not as far ahead of us as we thought.”

  “True,” Alaric said. “And I think he may not be heading straight to the Greenwood. The stone Gustav dug up in Bone Valley was Kordan’s emerald, not his Wellstone. The emerald was probably what Gustav was after all along, but after yesterday’s council meeting, he knows that Kordan also had a Wellstone.

  “I believe the Wellstone is at Kordan’s tower where you found the map, Douglon. Gustav would have come to the same conclusion. A Wellstone would help Gustav hold all the energy he’s going to need when he tries to wake Mallon. Since the valley with Kordan’s tower is between here and the Greenwood, I think he’ll go look for that first.”

  “That’s the Wellstone you need, isn’t it?” Brandson asked. “The one with the antidote for Evangeline?”

  Alaric nodded. The thought of Gustav having the Wellstone rankled deep inside of him.

  “It won’t take long to stop there,” Douglon said. “To get to the northern edge of the Greenwood, we’ll pass right by the valley. It’ll just take a couple hours to get to it and back.”

  As the day went on, Alaric kept Beast near Ayda. She was riding quietly, not bothering Douglon or paying attention to the trees. Something was different about her this morning. Ever since she had defended Alaric in the council meeting, she was more open and honest. More present than she normally was. This morning, it felt less like he was keeping tabs on an unpredictable elf and more like he was riding alongside a friend.

  Alaric tried to come up with ways of broaching the subject of the darkness Will had seen in her. But there really wasn’t a good way to ask someone to share their deepest, darkest secret while you rode with them on a sunny morning. Not a way that seemed likely to work, anyway. It was Ayda who finally spoke first.

  “Will you return to the palace when this is over?”

  That agreement hung over him like a cloud. “I told Saren I would. After we stop Gustav and after I…”

  “Let Evangeline go to sleep?” Ayda asked, not unkindly.

  Alaric felt a knife blade of anguish in his gut. To ‘go to sleep’ was the elven term for death. “No, if we find the Wellstone, I’ll wake her and stop the poison.”

  Ayda looked at him steadily, but said nothing.

  Alaric refused to answer the unspoken doubt in her eyes. Unless the Wellstone was absolutely destroyed, he would not give up this hope. “Where will you go after this is over?”

  Ayda’s eyes swept southwest as though she could see the Greenwood past the miles of hills between them. “Perhaps it will be time to sleep,” she answered, a dreamy, hopeful expression on her face.

  Alaric turned sharply toward her. “Your kind of sleep? Or mine?”

  “Your kind of sleep,” she answered with a wistful smile, “will not cure the sort of weariness I have.”

  Alaric stared at her in amazement. “But you are the last of your people,” he said. “If you die, everything of your people dies with you. Think of how much the world could learn, could benefit, from your knowledge!”

  “That is my only regret,” she said softly, “that the lore of my people will end. But not for the world’s sake, for the fact that there will never be another elf who will learn it. We have never felt compelled to share our knowledge with the world. Why should I begin now?”

  “But there can’t be no more elves. The world needs elves.”

  Ayda snorted. “There haven’t been any elves for eight years, and the world has barely noticed.”

  Alaric looked ahead without answering, and the two rode together in silence for several minutes.

  “I can’t continue like this.” Her voice was full of exhaustion.
/>   He glanced at her and saw her face drawn with pain. “Because all your people are dead?” He cringed as soon as the words were out at how insensitive they were. But she’d never expressed anything about this before.

  She shook her head. “Because my people are not dead.”

  Not dead? He turned to face her completely, and she looked back at him. The rage was back, deep in her eyes. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows while she studied him.

  Alaric braced himself. For what, he didn’t know.

  But she only gave a slow nod. “You are a Keeper, and my people’s story should be kept.” Her brow smoothed, and her face opened up somehow. The guarded look in her eyes dropped away. What he had taken to be rage was something worse. She was brimming with a deep, shattering pain. “Will you take the story of the elves?”

  Alaric drew back from her, from her eyes. The depth of the pain and hopelessness there threatened to swallow him. She sat patiently, waiting, knowing the weight of what she asked.

  He wanted the story, wanted it very much. But the suffering in her eyes was so cavernous, he was afraid to go near it. “I’m not a very good Keeper,” he whispered.

  “Then do it because you are my friend, Alaric,” she said.

  Ayda held out her hand to him.

  Alaric’s was shaking slightly as he reached out and took it.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  He raced through the trees, their branches reaching for him, their murmurs of fear and confusion clinging to him. The ground below him was covered with life, tendrils of energy reached down into the dirt, the fragrance of moss and grass filled the air.

  He looked down to see Ayda’s feet leap over the slow, pulsing energy of a gnarled tree root.

  He was in her mind, in her memory.

  Ayda raced toward the last bend in the path before the clearing, the fear from the trees urging her on. When she turned, instead of being greeted with warm sunlight, she stumbled to a halt at the edge of a snarled forest.

  Directly in front of her was an elf partially transformed into a tall birch. His torso melted into the trunk of the tree, his arms, past the elbow, were covered in bark. His eyes stared unblinking past her as he bent his will toward his goal.

  She stepped back a moment, frightened.

  “Just a changing,” she said quietly to herself. A changing was smooth and graceful. Like stretching. There was nothing frightening about it.

  And yet she drew away.

  A groan farther ahead drew her attention.

  Another elf, partway through changing stared out of an aspen, his face stretched in pain. Why pain? Changing wasn’t painful.

  There was something terribly wrong. She stood before the tree, trying to understand. The deep pulse of energy that should have flowed through his roots was sluggish. She reached forward and touched the side of the tree, looking into the elf’s tortured face. The life energy didn’t flow; it swirled and dribbled and pressed in all the wrong places. And there was a darkness, a growing mass of blackness sending tendrils out, wrapping around what was left of the elf and smothering it.

  She yanked her hand off the tree and looked around her. Every tree was the same. She could see it now, the blackness sitting inside each one of them.

  She walked past one after another, each a tangle of elf and tree segments spliced together. There were so many.

  Her gaze scanned the glen as she took faltering steps forward. Her eyes finally fell on the basin sitting at the foot of the steps to her father’s house. The surface still bubbled slightly with the power of the links to the cursed ones, links to the people controlled by fragments of Mallon’s will.

  Ayda looked around at all of the half-changed elves. They should have used those links to pull Mallon’s curses off of the people he controlled and onto themselves. Once they finished changing into trees, the curses would be released, the dark energy returning to Mallon. Then, with all his power back inside of his own body, he would be mortal. Then, they had a chance to destroy him.

  They just needed to finish changing.

  Ayda ran toward the basin, ready to take one of the curses upon herself.

  “Ayda, stop!” Prince Elryn called from the steps. He rushed to embrace her.

  She clung to him, burying her face in her brother’s chest, feeling his energy flow smoothly through his body. She hid against him for a moment, blocking out the other elves.

  “I can help,” she said finally, pulling away toward the basin.

  He held her firmly. His face was pale, his eyes tense. Cornered. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “What’s happening?”

  Elryn shook his head and turned away, leading her up the stairs winding around the trunk of the greenwood tree to her father’s house. As they climbed, Ayda could see that the glen was full of elves in different stages of changing. She paused in her climb. The elves stood or kneeled on the ground, looking ill or exhausted. Some looked dead.

  “Elryn, what’s happening?”

  He stepped down toward her, gently took her hand, and began leading her up the stairs again.

  “We don’t know, exactly,” he began. “We’ve collected the curses, but somehow, they are keeping our people from changing.” He looked down toward the glen, dismayed. “There may be too much of the Rivor in one place.”

  Ayda stopped again, staring at Elryn. “They can’t change as fast as you, so the spells have time to stop them.”

  Elryn looked stricken. “I didn’t know it would make a difference.”

  Ayda began to run up the stairs, now pulling her brother after her. They ran to the top and into her father’s house. Rushing through rooms created out of the tree itself, she ran into King Andolin’s council chamber where she slid to a halt.

  The king stood with his head bowed before a large window. Off to the east, smoke rose lazily above the trees.

  “He has crossed the eastern border of the Greenwood,” the king said. “He spreads fire and darkness. We have very little time.”

  Ayda looked at her father. His shoulders were bowed and his skin was white as moonlight.

  “Who?” Ayda demanded. “Mallon? Is he coming here?”

  Her father did not move. Elryn closed his eyes.

  Ayda stared at the two of them just standing there. Mallon was coming to the glen. A seething rage grew deep within her. The darkness in the elves was his doing. He would not bring more of that darkness here.

  “We have to fight him!”

  “There will be no fight,” the king said quietly. “There will only be death.”

  Ayda looked angrily at her brother and father. “Of course we will fight,” she said. “Every elf alive is here. Why would we not fight?”

  “Every elf alive is trapped,” Elryn said. “Trapped in themselves having willingly taken on the power of the Rivor.”

  She stared at him, then looked out the window at the elves below. Those changing were still caught, others sat senseless on the ground or stumbled about as though in darkness.

  “How many are free?”

  Elryn looked at her. “Three.”

  King Andolin dropped his head into his hands.

  “Father,” Elryn said matter-of-factly, “it is time.”

  The king sighed deeply then straightened his shoulders and looked at Ayda. His eyes drew her in and surrounded her.

  “I have always loved you, my daughter,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. Then he stepped back and held her firmly by the shoulders. “Will you help me?” His voice was pleading. His eyes burned with the question.

  “Of course,” she answered. “Anything you need.”

  He opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it again. Turning abruptly away, he strode from the room followed by Elryn.

  Ayda looked again at the eastern sky. The smoke spread across the blue sky like a stain.

  She ran after them back down to the glen.

  Elryn was standing at the eastern entrance of the clearing. He faced down the avenue
that wound away under the tree, holding a longbow in his hand.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, running up to him. She looked down at the handful of arrows stuck into the ground by his feet, waiting to be shot. “What are we going to do against him with a few arrows?” Still, she turned and stood next to him, facing down the quiet forest path.

  “Not we,” he said. “Me. Our father has need of you.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” Ayda said. “You can’t defeat him alone.”

  “Our father has need of you,” he repeated. Then he pulled his eyes from the path and looked at her, smiling reassuringly. “I can if everything goes right. Now, go.”

  She hesitated a moment. Elryn’s face was filled with… something. Fury? Determination? Agony? He leaned forward and kissed Ayda on the forehead. “I love you.”

  His kiss burned slightly, as though she had been touched with a coal. Or maybe some ice. “And I love you.” Her brother nodded and turned to face the avenue again.

  Ayda ran to the king who was shepherding the elves into one large group. She began helping, guiding the ones that could walk to sit among the half-transformed trees. The ones that couldn’t walk, they carried. Some rocked, curled on the ground like infants, some shrieked, some were bent and deformed, some had boils and sores.

  As gently as she could, with tears spilling down her cheeks, Ayda herded them together.

  “Someday,” her father had told her the day she had refused to be named his heir. “Someday, you will realize how much you love your people.”

  And here, with the fire and darkness approaching from the east, she knew. She worked tirelessly, her heart breaking over and over.

  When they were as collected as was possible with only a few of the half-formed trees sitting outside of a tight circle, Ayda sank down onto her knees.

  Her father was pale.

  “How do we protect them?” she asked.

  He looked at her with desperate eyes. “I wanted you to be queen because there is a strength in you that is different,” he said, coming to her and grasping her hands. Then he closed his eyes. “May that strength sustain you.”