Keepers of Eternity

by kimberly

  Julienne screamed, feeling otherworldly forces threatening to overtake her delicate senses. She threw up her arms to ward off the pieces of fiery stone, feeling them penetrate cleanly through her body on their way to infinity. Blinding in its concentration, a second flare of flame shot up like a tornado into the air where the stone pillar once stood. In its exact center was now the pathway into the Sclydian dimension. Mist swirled in an endless cyclone, stretching on forever.

  Realizing she was not injured, she lowered her hands. She was awestruck by the vision, dazzled by the sheer force of power Morgan had unleashed. She felt the magical tension deepen, felt her body and mind being forced open to accept what she'd once believed impossible. Her eyes were riveted to the eerie white mist. Swirling, growing, until it seemed to envelope the land, it leapt and danced, changing from white, to gray, to black before going white again in mere seconds. It silently called her, threatening to love and to strangle her all in one sweeping moment. It was the life, it was the death of the dimensions. To manipulate or be manipulated was all it existed for. Will was its sole master.

  Oh, my god, she thought. It's beautiful.

  Seeing her chance, making a sudden rash decision, she knew the only way she would be able to go with Morgan to Sclyd would be if she preceded him. Summoning all her courage, she set her body in motion, running toward the gaping chasm. If he's fast enough to stop me, I don't deserve to go!

  "Julienne, no!" she heard him yell, but it was too late. As the mist closed around her, she fulfilled her destiny. There would be no turning back.

  She was damned…

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For endless minutes the mist was choking, seeming to want to smother all life out of those who stepped into its deadly center. It swirled in a heaving swell, completely enveloping all it touched. Light to dark and then light again, it stretched as far as the eye could see, going beyond the constraints of all existence.

  Morgan Saint-Evanston looked dispassionately around the world he had been parted from for two hundred and fifty years. As an immortal, he had spent a millennium in the realm, which had never progressed past a medieval age. He was old enough to have known it in a different state, one less remote.

  The land he now viewed was sterile. Where life had once thrived, only stark remnants stood. Like a body stripped to bone, relics of the old cities and their outlying peasant settlements were skeletal, plundered by war. Fields, crisscrossed by roads for commerce, formed a barren patchwork of bramble and rock. There were no trees. Forests, once lush and flourishing in the valleys, had been ravaged for wood as seasons of warmth and light descended into days of everlasting dusk. Other greenery was sparse, fighting to grow in the haggard conditions. Plant life was stripped by dray horses and oxen pausing on their way to market, their carts loaded with the meager yield of the land. What small amount of wildlife remained was in danger of extinction as they became constant prey for bands of Raiders, the outcast people who had no choice but to survive by whatever means they could.

  The outlying northern lands were no more inviting. A vast expanse of steppes stretched toward a gathering of monolithic peaks that led toward an obscure region known as the dead zones. Majestic in height and breadth, their jagged crowns ruled absolute over the desolation. With no coming of the day, no descent into night, it was a place where time had ceased to exist, for time was nothing to a people who sought eternity. It was eerie and unsettling to stand amid the ruins of a civilization torn to shreds by a war of occult forces fueled by ambition and jealousies among the entities.

  "My God, it's so desolate." Julienne was beside him. Her eyes were wide as she attempted to take in the whole of what she saw. Chill bumps covered her pale skin. She was not dressed, nor prepared, for survival in the barren climate.

  Seeing her discomfort, Morgan took off his heavy coat, holding it open for her to climb into. "I warned you Sclyd would be unlike any place you had ever seen."

  She offered him a grateful smile and drew the jacket around her. "Where are we?"

  He surveyed their location. "Near the valleys, just outside the dead zones," he told her, pointing through the mist. "This is not a place we should be near right now. I want to get to a place where I can send you back. When you are safe, I have a journey to make."

  "Xavier?"

  "Yes."

  Tilting back her chin and setting her stance, she said, "I don't want to go back."

  He raised an eyebrow in surprise. Not the words he was expecting to hear. Hell, even I want to go back after seeing this. "This is not a safe place."

  "I don't care," she insisted stubbornly. "I'm here. I'm staying."

  Morgan shook his head in exasperation. She must be crazier than I am.

  "You have to keep up," he warned. "The first time you hold me back, you will be on your own. I will not guarantee your life."

  "You're such a romantic man," she grumbled. "I can take care of myself. You lead, I'll follow. Isn't that what women do?" She looked around. "So, where do we go from here?"

  "In the Northlands, there are a few places," he said. "I have sanctuary there, and there are tribes of Raiders who can be counted on for trading." However, there was no guarantee that anything would be waiting for him. The terrain was unstable, ever shifting because of encroaching dead zones, a force that fed on the physical and psychic life of the world. While he had been away, the zones might have advanced like a virus, eating away all he had left behind.

  "What does someone here call 'sanctuary?'" Julienne asked, shivering. "A roof over my head and a fire would definitely help." She offered him an endearing look. "For better or worse, richer or poorer, right?"

  "We are not married, and it is about to get worse, caile," he answered. "Before it gets better. Bealach fada anonn 's anall a chóich'. A long way back and forth forever."

  "Half the time I don't understand you," she grumbled.

  "You are not supposed to understand me the other half, either."

  They departed into the barren landscape surrounding the darkness of the dead zone, traveling on a downward slope, leaving behind the steep cliffs for valleys where some semblance of life struggled to sprout in a devastated world. Getting to the area he had staked out as his own during the dark age war meant crossing through regions inhabited by the tribes of outcasts banished from the provinces beyond the reach of the mist.

  "The Raiders," he explained as they walked, "are a dangerous and desperate people existing around the remnants of cities that once thrived within the Sclydian dimension. Their origins range from entities stripped of legacy to those who willingly renounced occult ways. Their numbers are supplemented by mortals born in the dimensions in the villages of the Eastlands or, more often, humans kidnapped by entities for servitude and breeding. When humans are no longer deemed valuable to an entity, many of them are turned out to die."

  "God, that's horrible," Julienne murmured.

  "Because their numbers are small, the Raider tribes will take in humans born on the mortal side, especially women. If something happens to me, and that is a very likely possibility, you will have no worries. You would be taken in."

  "I don't want to be taken in."

  "Existence for the Raiders is hard. They survive by stealing or killing for what they need in this world. Savages all, the Raiders will not hesitate to assault the unlucky traveler for any possessions they can lay their hands on."

  Julienne shivered. "I can feel their eyes on me, even though I can't see them."

  Morgan nodded. Soon they left the concealing ruins and he was ever aware of the Raiders' watchful eyes as he and Julienne crossed their lands. Though he and the tribes had no current animosities between them there was no telling with the rogue warriors, and it was these mercenaries he was on the lookout for.

  "I'm amazed at the vastness," Julienne commented casting an uneasy glance around the vistas beyond the dead place. "It seems a little more livable here."

  Under a hazy sky lay countryside bearing signs of life. Pa
tches of greenery, trees and grass struggled to grow among the ruins, and the rocky land was entrenched by rivers of clear running water. Animals of recognizable varieties came into sight. Small fires dotted the edges of the waters, and she realized there were people watching from a distance as they passed by Raider camps. Suspicious eyes glared out of dirty faces, but not a word was said nor a gesture made except for when the watchers slunk back into the ruins they had emerged from. No one approached. Though they were armed, none would come forth to challenge Morgan. Besides, they had no quarrel with him.

  He shrugged. "It is safer here for an outcast such as I."

  "These people, do they know you?"

  Morgan did not stop nor turn his head to her when he answered. "The Raiders know me," he acknowledged. "We have an uneasy alliance, as long as the trading is good. I will not kill them today, and perhaps today they will not kill me. Tomorrow, their thoughts may change."

  "What makes their thoughts change?"

  He swiped his dark hair out of his eyes. "Because I am an outlaw, they have the advantage."

  "I think I remember you mentioned that," Julienne grimaced.

  "You should have listened." Without further explanation, he lapsed back into silence.

  The journey was a rigorous one for Julienne. Unused to the terrain and the physical exertions of travel by foot, she was soon past her endurance. Aware of her lagging, Morgan slowed his pace. Their walk had been a long one, but they were still many miles from their destination.

  "You are holding me back," he warned. "You need to keep up."

  "I'm sorry. I need something to eat, and to rest a little." Julienne smiled wanly. "I suppose you don't have to worry about such things."

  "Even before I claimed my legacy, I did not have a dependence on physical needs," he replied.

  "When did you know you were different from, um…us?" she asked. "A young age, I suppose."

  "A young age," he agreed. "After my mother died, my education was given over to a Spanish monk. He taught me I was different from other people, trained me to extinguish the demands of this body, to use abilities others did not have. I never questioned him, because he was the same as I." He did not say it was under the monk Esteban's teachings that he also learned the ways of assassination, a profession he pursued through the last sixteen years of his mortality and for centuries within the dimensions.

  "I'd like you to tell me more about your life sometime," she said wistfully.

  "Perhaps I will tell you some things," he said vaguely, not committing to any firm promises. It was safer not to divulge all details to any lover. That way, he did not have to remember what he might have lied about.

  "It would be nice." Julienne cursed her tired legs when they began to climb a steep incline, passing by the remnants of a fallen wall. She stumbled, falling to her hands and knees.

  "I have had enough, dragging you along!" Morgan snapped, stopping and lifting her by an arm. "My patience is wearing out."

  "Sorry," she said, forcing herself to stand without his aid.

  "We will stop until you have rested enough to continue," he said, inwardly cursing the woman and her human weaknesses. Now that he was back in Sclyd, he did not fancy being held back by a mortal. Glancing around, he could see they were near ruins long ago abandoned but which still offered shelter to passing travelers. The hulking shape of the edifice could be seen through the dusky haze.

  Julienne searched the vapor, struggling to find focus on familiar objects. "Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that castle ahead crumbling? What's happening to it?"

  The fortress had fallen to decay. Digging deep in gaping cracks, the mist roamed, permeating every inch of the structure with its eroding presence.

  "Entropy." Morgan, too, searched for signs of life. Though he did not relish stopping in the center of Raider territories, he felt it would do Julienne no good to push her past endurance. "This should afford some shelter, also water. These places usually have good wells and if there is one thing that is plentiful here, it is underground water."

  Making her stay behind him, he started up a crumbling set of thirty steps carved into the stone. These led to a wide, open-air foyer, its six pillars sagging and roof none too stable under the merciless erosions of the destructive fog. He looked up. Soon the whole mass would come tumbling down to block the entrance. It was only a matter of time's decay.

  Julienne came more slowly, taking care not to twist an ankle in the jagged slices in the rock.

  "It's so lonely here," she remarked, reaching out to touch one of the pillars. Bits of marble crumbled to dust under her touch. She stepped quickly away. "It's falling to pieces."

  "Apparently." He set off again, entering the great hall and leading the way through it. How clearly one could imagine brightly blazing torches lighting the corridors, fires blazing in the hearths to warm huge rooms containing the finest pieces of handcrafted furnishings. He stopped to trail his fingers along a ragged tapestry. The colorless threads disintegrated under his touch, ages old and no longer held together by any magic. How swiftly the spoilage took place when a force was no longer alive.

  He moved on into a huge dining hall. Petrified bones of the last meal served there littered the table and floor and a tankard of wine now held dust.

  A sudden movement at the rear of the room caught his attention. From behind a hanging drape bounded the figure of a man! Leaping to the tabletop, he made a dead run toward Morgan. The blade of a knife flashed in his hand.

  "Morgan! Look out!" Julienne screamed as the assailant sprang into the air, intending to bring him down.

  Morgan flashed a quick glance toward her. No time to help her, he thought, as a second skulker grabbed Julienne from behind, pinning her arms behind her back. She struggled, but her captor held her tightly in an iron grip. A third man clamped his hand across her mouth. A fourth and a fifth appeared as the warriors who had been stalking them launched their attack.

  Take care of this first, then see to her. You must not let her hold you back when she becomes a liability… If she dies, she knew the risks when she crossed over.

  A man of superior ability in speed and strength, Morgan reacted instantly. He ducked to catch the flying figure by the neck and slammed it to the floor. The knife flashed across Morgan's face and cut a long slice in his cheek. Catching the man's wrist, he savagely twisted, snapping the bone as if it were no more than a brittle stick. His assailant howled in agony, and the knife clattered to the floor. Morgan caught the strap of the crossbow the warrior wore and snapped it, yanking the heavy weapon free and in the same motion slamming the stock against the outlaw's skull. With the sound of a ripe melon, the man's head split, spattering blood and gray matter on the thick dust of the ruined floor.

  Immediately, Morgan spun and used the butt of the crossbow again on the man who attacked him from behind. He swung it with a fierce strength. It contacted, and the warrior dropped. The stock shattered when it crashed into bone for the second, lethal blow.

  He threw the useless weapon aside and snatched up the fallen dagger, then turned on the third man who threatened him, prepared to the throw the blade. Julienne still struggled weakly between her captors--two men held her immobile. Five more now watched, biding their time, for they outnumbered Morgan eight to one.

  Outfitted in loose trousers and chain mail-and-leather armor that covered their upper bodies, the Raiders' heads were shaved completely bald save for a thin strip of hair at the nape of the neck. Above the hair was a small tattoo, a crude circle with two dots at the edge, the mark of the Dragon. The men carried intricately decorated shields and heavy broadswords.

  Jan-si, Morgan quickly identified them. The foot soldiers of the Dragon. His eyes eagerly scanned the scene. It wasn't going to be a fair fight.

  "Kill me, cladhire," the man before him said fiercely, breathing heavily, speaking in the language not of the legions, but of the Raiders. His dress was primitive: leather boots, loose trousers tied with a thong and an open tunic. His blonde hai
r was long and unkempt, tied loosely back in a ponytail. He looked to be about forty. He was a man of some bulk, though hardly taller than Morgan. His gray eyes held no fear. "Kill me, and they kill your woman. I'm not afraid to die, so take your chance."

  Cladhire. The word had many meanings. "Coward" was one. "Ruffian" another.

  A rogue, Morgan thought. He must act as scout for the soldiers. Once a Raider turns to the Dragon, he is dead to his own people.

  Morgan's eyes narrowed just a bit, and a half-smile came to his lips. He did not appreciate either meaning. He brushed his free hand across his cheek, shooting a glance to the blood coloring his fingers before dropping it on the hilt of his own knife. He was debating his chances of winning. A quick throw of the dagger would impale the man through the throat. He would not miss. He had three more daggers as his own armament, one strapped to his right wrist in a leather sheath. This could afford a second throw, leaving him two daggers and six men to take. Though he had no doubt in his abilities to pull off the risky maneuver, there was no margin for an error that might end with Julienne being killed because of his risk-taking.

  Had he been on his own, there would have been no hesitation. He would have fought his way out of the ambush. Full of bitter conflict, he was tempted to abandon the woman and continue the fight unto the bloody end. Despite his instinct, he ceased all movement. Meddling brings you to your fate, Julienne, he thought. Now, it looks like it will cost both of us our lives. Against his better judgment he tossed the dagger to the ground. I knew she would be a liability. I warned her she would die if she got in my way…

  "Tell me what you want, madra," he said in the Raider's own language, an amalgamation of many languages through many centuries. Madra. Dog.

  The man picked up the knife and shoved it in his belt. No good weapon, even if it came from the hand of a dead man, was wasted. Metals were too precious.