The Keeper's Vow: A Chosen Novel (The Keepers Book 3)

by Meg Anne

  It was another day and a half before he’d found it. There was a small copse of trees just beside an offshoot of the river. Kieran had blinked and rubbed his eyes at first, certain he was looking at another one of the Vale’s mirages, but it hadn’t blurred. After a few stumbling steps, he’d started running, not stopping until he quite literally tripped over one of the fallen stones.

  The Gatekeeper hadn’t been lying when she said Elysia’s gate had been destroyed. If not for the markings etched into what was still standing of the original curved structure, Kieran never would have recognized it. It was hardly an arch, let alone anything resembling the stone sentinel he remembered.

  That hadn’t stopped him from kneeling before what was left of it, pressing his forehead to the sun-warmed stone and weeping like a child. It had to be a sign.

  It had to.

  Why else would he have found his way here?

  So Kieran’s search begun. Stones were scattered across the ground, most hidden beneath layers of grime and dirt. If not for edges jutting up just enough that he could either spot them—or trip over them—he may not have thought to look.

  The hope that had fueled his frantic digging ebbed when after a day’s search only a half dozen of the missing stones were located. That’s when he realized the stones were only part of the problem.

  Assuming he even managed to find them all, how exactly was he supposed to repair the gate? Kieran wasn’t even sure how to begin going about putting it back together. Surely there was some rhyme or reason to the way they needed to sit atop one another? Or was it enough to simply stack them?

  The longer he searched, the more inconsolable he became.

  Discovering the gate hadn’t been a blessing.

  It was a taunt.

  A reminder of all of Kieran’s shortcomings. His numerous—and if he was being honest, quite spectacular—failures.

  This was the universe’s way of dangling hope before him only to snatch it right back and tell Kieran he may as well stop trying. That even now, in the presence of his one possible chance at redemption, he was going to fail.

  Again.

  Kieran would always fail.

  Chapter 23

  When Effie could see again, the world was a mist-shrouded field. All around her delicate stalks of grass danced under a gentle breeze. It stretched on as far as she could see, which should have granted a sense of freedom, but only served to reinforce the sensation of being trapped. She was outside, true, but all she could make out in the distance was a wall of soft gray fog. Instead of being free, she was enclosed.

  A part of her knew this was a vision, but it was unlike any she’d ever had. It was far too pretty to be one of her usual prophecies. She could feel the warmth of the sun even though she couldn’t see it. There was a timeless quality about this place. It was neither morning nor afternoon, just an indeterminate sort of in-between.

  “Hello?” she called, her arms extended on either side of her body as she started weaving her way through the waist-high grass.

  “Hello, child.”

  Effie spun around, her heart caught in her throat as she searched for the owner of the unfamiliar voice. She hadn’t actually expected a response.

  No one was there.

  Anxious now, Effie crept forward. Any peace this place was supposed to impart vanished. Although she couldn’t see anyone, she did not for a second believe she was alone.

  “Would it make you feel better if I appeared to you thusly?”

  Effie’s eyes landed on the woman standing before her. She couldn’t seem to recall how to breathe. Not that it mattered here.

  The woman was the epitome of ageless beauty. She had a flickering quality, as if she were constantly in a state of flux. One second, a young warrior queen—only to become a girl on the brink of womanhood in the next breath, and then shift once more into an ancient and gnarled crone. But always, no matter which form she was currently wearing, she was striking.

  Her hair was the same spring-green of the field, her eyes a vibrant sky blue that shifted from pale storm clouds to the dead of night with each flicker of her visage. The woman’s skin was the color of a silvery birch, and the soft pink of dawn tinged her cheeks and lips. As she rippled once more, no more substantial than a reflection swaying on the surface of the ocean, Effie caught sight of a crown of starlight ringing her brow.

  “Do not be afraid, child. I’ve known you since before you were born.”

  “You and everyone else I come across these days.”

  If she was capable of forethought, Effie would have refrained from speaking the words out loud. This did not seem like someone she wanted to offend. As it was, Effie hadn’t even realized she’d spoken until the woman’s laughter flowed around them, filling the air with her mirth.

  Effie squinted, staring hard at the woman as she tried to place her. Effie knew for a fact she’d never met her, and yet . . . something about her was so familiar. Frustratingly so. Almost as if they’d known each other a long time ago, or maybe even in another lifetime—as if such a thing were even possible for her to recall, if it were possible at all.

  “You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage,” Effie finally said. Her unspoken question echoed as loudly as the words she actually uttered. Who are you?

  The woman beamed, and the beauty of it robbed Effie of breath. It was like bathing in sunshine. For no reason at all, tears pricked her eyes and it took more effort than it should have for Effie to keep from flinging herself into the woman’s arms.

  “You know me, child. Although perhaps you prefer to believe otherwise. The path I laid before you has hardly been an easy one. I know you place the brunt of the blame for that at my feet. Rightly so, I suppose.”

  The woman shifted again, and for one extended second, Effie thought she was staring into the face of her grandmother. Before she could react to seeing the beloved face, the truth of her companion’s identity slammed into her. Effie’s knees went weak, and she sank to the floor, her body trembling with the shock of her discovery.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t sure where to look. Was it rude to meet her gaze? Should she genuflect? What was the proper way to greet a goddess? No, not just a goddess, the goddess. There wasn’t time to land upon an answer before the Mother knelt beside Effie, cupping her face with both hands.

  “My poor, sweet girl. How you have suffered and yet . . . still you rise. Time and again you thrive when so many others wouldn’t know where to begin.” As she spoke, she brushed away the tears that fell unbidden from Effie’s eyes, her eyes gentle and her smile soft. “I know that you believe I had forsaken you, that I did not think you worthy to be one of my children, but that has never been the case. Your destiny was decided long before you were born.”

  Effie’s throat was raw, and it was painful to pull the words forth. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions she wanted to ask, and she didn’t know where to start. There were countless nights when her tears had run dry and her heart ached, where all she could manage was a single word. One word that somehow encompassed all of the pain and betrayal that consumed her. Why?

  Why didn’t you choose me?

  Why don’t they love me?

  Why allow me to live at all when no one wants me?

  “How my heart broke for you, watching what they did to you in my name. Every mother knows that she cannot intervene each time one of her children makes a mistake. At some point, they must find their way on their own. That does not mean I took any pleasure from your pain.” She tilted her head, her eyes moving over Effie’s face as her smile fell. “It was never that I didn’t choose you, Effie. You must know by now that you’ve always been one of my daughters—a very special one, at that.”

  Resentment, anger, and decades-old hurt faded away. The explanation didn’t undo the past, but at least now Effie knew that all of that pain had been endured for a reason. Somehow, that made it a little easier to forgive.

  “I fear that your trials have only just begun, Daughter
. You have an important part to play in the years to come.”

  “If that’s so, why allow me to be Shadow-touched? You almost lost me entirely.”

  The goddess’ ancient eyes were filled with apology. “I needed him to turn you. The only way to unlock your full potential was with a Guardian’s power.”

  Effie couldn’t help the little snort of disbelief that escaped. “You were sure counting on a lot of things to happen. What if Lucian hadn’t found the spell? Or hadn’t risked everything to try to save me?”

  “There was never any doubt things would turn out this way.”

  Effie shook her head. “Maybe not for you.”

  She smiled at that. “It is no accident Lucian ended up here in this time or place. He is my gift to you. Your reward for all that you have sacrificed.”

  It was such an absurd explanation. Effie couldn’t wait to tell Lucian he was a goddess’ gift to her. Proud, independent Lucian would just love to find out he was nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s game.

  “I know it is hard for you to believe—that all of this needed to happen, in exactly this way. But it’s true. The only way I could appear to you like this was with a Guardian’s power running through your veins. Their ability to see the world as it truly is, combined with your ability to receive my warnings . . . no other before you has ever been so gifted.”

  Effie’s brows dipped with confusion. “But . . . why me? Helena is your Vessel, so what can I possibly—” Effie was silenced with a finger pressed lightly over her lips.

  “Helena holds my power, true. But you, Effie, you are my Voice.”

  Effie blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, that certainly hadn’t been it. “Oh.”

  The goddess gave her another smile, although this one was tinged with sadness. “For centuries I have been trying to warn my children about what was coming, to prepare them, but there are limits to what I can do, or perhaps more accurately, what they can comprehend. I protected them for as long as I could, but he’s growing stronger, and I am out of options. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

  Foreboding surged through Effie, cutting through the wonder of the moment and providing a chilling sense of clarity. “The Shadow Years.”

  The goddess nodded, her expression fierce.

  “So it’s not a way for you to punish us?”

  “You think I want this?” As she spoke, her voice cracked like thunder and the air whipped around until they were surrounded by the physical manifestation of her pain.

  “Y-you mean you don’t want to destroy the Chosen?” Effie stuttered, shocked by the venom in her response.

  “What mother ever wants to see harm come to their children?”

  It would seem not all mothers were cut from the same cloth in that regard. Effie still carried the scars from a past that provided a very bleak answer to that question. Her mother hadn’t had any issue at all hurting her daughter.

  Unaware of Effie’s internal recounting, the Mother continued speaking. “No”—she shook her head once, her expression dark—“this is not my doing.”

  “If not you . . . who?”

  For the first time, true anger shone in the goddess’ eyes. “Love and jealousy are not mortal emotions. What you experience is only the echo of the reality.”

  Effie blinked, wondering how exactly that was supposed to be an answer.

  Sighing, the Mother added, “It takes two beings to create a child, even for one such as me.”

  Gaping, Effie stared at her. “But—”

  A horrible tearing sounded in the distance, silencing Effie before she could finish the question. The goddess gave a start, her eyes widening as the sky at the edges of their little clearing turned black. Her next words coming out in a whispered rush. “He wakes. We’re out of time. You need to go. Tell them what you’ve learned.”

  “Wait, what? Who wakes? How do we stop what’s coming? What am I supposed to tell them? Will I get to see you again?” All the questions Effie couldn’t seem to voice earlier poured from her now.

  “I am always with you. The answers you seek are right in front of you. See the truth, trust your instincts, and you will find the way.”

  Before Effie could ask what that was supposed to mean, the goddess leaned forward and pressed her lips to the center of Effie’s forehead. Light exploded behind her eyes, and Effie gave a wordless cry.

  “Remember what you are, Daughter.”

  The words echoed through Effie’s mind as her eyes fluttered open and Lucian’s face swam into view.

  Chapter 24

  Startled gasps rang out as Effie slumped back in her chair. Lucian was already kneeling by her side as her eyes rolled back into her head and her eyelids started to flutter.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Kael’s concern was palpable through their mental link.

  “She’s having a vision.”

  “Are you sure? She isn’t showing any symptoms.”

  Lucian frowned. That much was true. There wasn’t so much as a twitching finger to suggest she’d been taken over by her Keeper’s gift. But instinct told him that was definitely what just happened. Ignoring everyone else in the room, he brushed his hand over her forehead, shamelessly using his power to try to see whatever it was she was experiencing. A bolt of lavender light practically blinded him and Lucian grunted as he removed his hand.

  “It’s definitely a vision, but none like I’ve ever seen.”

  “Should visions even be possible now that she’s a Guardian?” Nord asked, joining the telepathic conversation.

  Lucian didn’t have an answer, so he ignored the question. Instead he wove an arm beneath Effie’s legs and wrapped the other around her back, easily lifting her as he stood. “Visions can be very disorienting,” he said by way of explanation. Not that he owed one to anyone.

  “I’ll go with you.” Helena was on her feet, Von’s hand on her shoulder the only thing keeping her in place.

  “I think Effie would appreciate a bit of privacy when she comes to. I’ll send for you once she’s ready for company.”

  Helena was clearly not used to being told no. Lucian’s lips almost twitched up in amusement, but Effie gave a low groan in his arms. As he glanced down, her eyes snapped open. Lucian shuddered as power surged through him. That was not particularly uncommon except that he wasn’t the one that called it forth. Something—Effie—was drawing his power to the surface.

  Eyes glowing with lavender fire, she stared straight through him. “He wakes,” she intoned in a deep, resonant voice that sounded nothing like her own.

  “Who wakes?” Lucian demanded. In all his years working with the Keepers, none had ever spoken while still under the effects of their vision. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him, let alone respond in a meaningful way, but he couldn’t have stayed silent if he tried.

  Her eyes pulsed, growing even brighter as she answered, “Tul Mort Jateh.” As soon as the foreign words left her lips, the lavender light extinguished and Effie fell limp in his arms.

  There was a high-pitched cry followed by the sound of wood scraping against stone. Lucian’s head snapped up, but Nord was two steps ahead of him, keeping the Triumvirates’ pretense intact.

  “What do you know, Night Stalker?”

  Reyna swallowed, her already pale skin the color of chalk. Lucian had not seen much of her since the incident with the lajhár, but it was obvious she still hadn’t made a full recovery even though the others had weeks ago. Her skin had a waxy sheen and there were dark purple smudges beneath sunken eyes. She was breathing fast, the sound of her shallow pants practically booming in the anxious silence.

  “We’re waiting.”

  Reyna flinched, the involuntary move speaking louder than any words. For the Night Stalker to be so obviously terrified did not bode well for whatever she was about to say. But then, when had anyone had good news to share lately?

  Her tongue darted out as her eyes swept around the meeting room. Lucian didn’t think it was his imaginatio
n that she was looking not at the people in the room, but the shadows. “Just as the Chosen have their children’s tale, so too do the Night Stalkers. Instead of the Mother and her Shadow Years, we have our own story. One that is told only in whispers.”

  Lucian exchanged a questioning look with Kael. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?”

  Kael discretely shook his head. “I know as much as you. If this is part of their lore, they’ve never disclosed it.”

  “Do you know about this?” Helena asked, swinging her attention to Nord’s illusion of the Triumvirate.

  “No, Kiri. We are not privy to the secrets of the Night Stalkers,” Lucian answered.

  Her eyes narrowed. “How can that be? I thought you three knew everything.”

  Lucian bit back a bemused grin, her frustration a clear echo of his own. It never ceased to surprise him that immortality still wasn’t long enough to provide someone with all the answers.

  “We are not omnipotent. We know only that which is shared with us. The Night Stalkers were all but forgotten since they were the very first tribe to be cut off from the Chosen and given the title of Forsaken. Until you sought them out, we’ve had no contact with any from the tribe. As for the archives, there are very few references to the Night Stalkers beyond their roles as skilled assassins and the protectors of the forest. There is nothing in our books about their cultural beliefs.”

  “But that name, Tul Mort Jateh, it means something to you?” Helena pressed, now seated beside Reyna with her hand resting on the other woman’s knee.

  Reyna nodded. “All Night Stalkers know the name. He is the monster beneath our beds. The thing we all blame for keeping us awake at night. Tul Mort Jateh,” she whispered, her throat bobbing as she swallowed convulsively. “The Lord of Death.”

  “Do you know what she meant by ‘he wakes’?”

  Reyna gave a sharp nod. “It means that the spell keeping him bound to the dream world has weakened.”